A Young Poet
No forms have I to bring except
handkerchiefs wet with neon tears,
and pumpkin pictures of the country
where a man is closer
to the dirt of his seed.
No forms have I to bring except
spidery old people
living in webby houses
and waiting to die.
No forms have I to bring except
the wild birds of heaven
in all their glory.
No forms have I to bring except
misanthropic merry-go-rounds,
and haunted toilets
and cups that breathe the eyes
of contented lovers.
No forms have I to bring except
the colors of the soul
painted on the world.
źródło: American Dust (Brautigan Archives)
o źródle i prawach
tekst za archiwum "american dust" (brautiganarchives.xyz)
10.06.2026