…
me and the
rats
and my youth,
one time,
that time
I knew
even through the
nothingness,
it was a
celebration
of something not to
do
but only
to know.
-Charles Bukowski, “Young in New Orleans”
A Seasonal Haiku
I cried, so he said,
“June greets the summer with sweet,
bloody strawberries.”
We’d just shared the last beer and slung the empty can out the window at a stop sign and were just leaning back to get the feel of the day, swimming in that kind of tasty drowsiness that comes over you after a day or going hard at something you enjoy doing—half sunburned and half drunk and keeping awake only because you wanted to savor the taste as long as you could. I noticed vaguely that I was getting so’s I could see some good in the life around me…I was feeling better than I’d remembered feeling since I was a kid, when everything was good and the land was still singing kids’ poetry to me.
-Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
2 weeks ago - 
2
2 
1 month ago - 4
4the old-marrieds
But in the crowding darkness not a word did they say.
Though the pretty-coated birds had piped so lightly all
the day.
And he had seen the lovers in the little side-streets.
And she had heard the morning stories clogged with
sweets.
It was quite a time for loving. It was midnight. It was
May.
But in the crowding darkness not a word did they say.
-Gwendolyn Brooks, A Street in Bronzeville
At fifteen I stopped scowling.
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever, and forever.
Why should I climb the lookout?
Rihaku, “The River Merchant’s Wife: A Letter” (Translated by Ezra Pound)
