Dream of Me As Richard Brautigan, the Hat Howls
In the digitimes of trout streams full of numbers,
I’m the dark echo of a moon-ringing splash-machine
named 567-3389, my old phone number,
that crazy pet of howling crisis I’m
nursing now with my tender planted hands
and my tender planted ears
full of dark echo
and soil.
Sure, my life now is an echo of singing numbers
transformed by darkness into emptiness
dreaming of rhymes.
Please, dream of me as Richard Brautigan,
howls a dark empty hat in a dark empty room
suffers homesickness of a poet.
This lonely hat,
moon in black,
remote like tomb,
is in love with fairytales and fishing.
It has a silver trout shadow and all!
[Christos Tsanakas, Athens/Greece/June 2016]
Copyright © Christos Tsanakas | Year Posted 2016
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