Richard Brautigan (1935-1984)




A room that knows your death

A Closet Freezes

In a room that knows your death
a closet freezes like a postage stamp.
A coat, a dress is hanging there.




   




The Memoirs of Jesse James

I remember all those thousands of hours
that I spent in grade school watching the clock,
waiting for recess or lunch or to go home.
      Waiting: for anything but school
My teachers could easily have ridden with Jesse James
      for all the time they stole from me.                              




   




Have You Ever Felt Like a Wounded Cow

Have you ever felt like a wounded cow
halfway between an oven and a pasture?
walking in a trance toward a pregnant
      seventeen-year-old housewife’s
      two-day-old cookbook?




   




We Stopped At Perfect Days

We stopped at perfect days
and got out of the car.
The wind glanced at her hair.
It was as simple as that.
I turned to say something—




   




A Lyrical Want, an Endocrine Gland Fancy

A lyrical want, an endocrine gland fancy,
a telescope that I thought had no thorns
have led me to a pain that I cannot pronounce.
It gathers around me like a convention of translators
for a language that does not exist with all those
      meetings to attend.




   




Melting Ice Cream at the Edge of Your Final Thought

Oh well, call it a
      life.