Friday, May 31, 2013


The moon put her hand
over my mouth and told me 
to shut up and watch.

I surely understand paper and how poets
disappear despite it.  These days I write
so lightly I don't quite touch it.

A man pays court with his poems.
A women dismisses him with hers.

Monkeys search each other
and so do we.  Another sign 
of our advancement.

All those spin butchers drooling
public pus.  Save your first
bullet for television.

Rate the hours.  One and 5 A.M.
are fine while 3 is the harshest.
The fool always feels safe at noon.

I thought my friend was drinking 
too much, but it was the vodka
that was drinking him.

-Braided Creek: A Conversation in Poetry
Ted Kooser and Jim Harrison

back story here

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