LOADING MERCURY WITH A PITCHFORK
By Richard Brautigan
(selected works)
POSTCARD
LOADING MERCURY WITH A PITCHFORK
IT'S TIME TO TRAIN YOURSELF
THE ACT OF: DEATH-DEFYING AFFECTION
CROW MAIDEN
INFORMATION
WE MEET. WE TRY. NOTHING HAPPENS, BUT
IMPASSE
THE NECESSITY OF APPEARING IN YOUR OWN FACE
FOR FEAR YOU WILL BE ALONE
EVERYTHING INCLUDES US
I'LL AFFECT YOU SLOWLY
AT THE GUESS OF A SIMPLE HELLO
SEXUAL ACCIDENT
FUCK ME LIKE FRIED POTATOES
THE CURVE OF FORGOTTEN THINGS
THE SHADOW OF SEVEN YEARS' BAD LUCK
DIVE-BOMBING THE LOWER EMOTIONS
EARLY SPRING MUD PUDDLE AT AN OFF ANGLE
NOBODY KNOWS WHAT THE EXPERIENCE IS WORTH
I wonder if eighty-four-year-old Colonel Sanders
ever gets tired of traveling all around America
talking about fried chicken.
Loading mercury with a pitchfork
your truck is almost full. The neighbors
take a certain pride in you. They
stand around watching.
It's time to train yourself
to sleep alone again
and it's so fucking hard.
The act of: death-defying affection
insures the constancy of the stars
and their place at the beginning of
everything.
Starring a beautiful young girl and twenty-
three crows. She has blonde hair. The crows are
intelligent. The director is obsessed with the
budget (too low). The photographer has fallen
in love with the girl. She can't stand him. The
crows are patient. The director is a homosexual.
The girl loves him. The photographer
daydreams murder. "One hundred and seventy-
five thousand. I was a fool!" the director says
to himself. The girl has taken to crying a lot at
night. The crows wait for their big scene.
And you will go where crows go
and you will know what the crows know.
After you have learned all their secrets
and think the way they do and your love
caresses their feathers like the walls
of a midnight clock, they will fly away
and take you with them.
And you will go where crows go
and you will know what the crows know.
Any thought that I have right now
isn't worth a shit because I'm totally
fucked up.
We meet. We try. Nothing happens, but
afterwards we are always embarrassed
when we see each other. We look away.
I talked a good hello
but she talked an even
better good-bye.
THE NECESSITY OF APPEARING
IN YOUR OWN FACE
There are days when that is the last place
in the world where you want to be but you
have to be there, like a movie, because it
features you.
For fear you will be alone
you do so many things
that aren't you at all
The thought of her hands
touching his hair
makes me want to vomit.
I'll affect you slowly
as if you were having
a picnic in a dream.
There will be no ants.
It won't rain.
At the guess of a simple hello
it can all begin
toward crying yourself to sleep,
wondering where the fuck
she is.
The sexual accident
that turned out to be your wife,
the mother of your children
and the end of our life, is home
cooking dinner for all your friends.
Fuck me like fried potatoes
on the most beautifully hungry
morning of my God-damn life.
Things slowly curve out of sight
Until they are gone. Afterwards
Only the curve
Remains.
A face concocted from leftovers of other faces
needs a mirror put together from pieces of
broken mirrors.
I was dive-bombing the lower
emotions on a typical yesterday
…after
I had sworn never to do it again.
I guess never's too long a time to stay
out of the cockpit
with the wind screaming down the wings
and the target almost praying itself into your
sights.
August 30
That's how I
feel.
October 5
Nobody knows what the experience is worth
but it's better than sitting on your hands,
I keep telling myself.
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- Brautigan Poetry