Poetry, notes, and drawings by William Michaelian
It is Brautiganesque, but not derivative at all. My morning today smelled of granola, yoghurt, and blackberries. And I can't eat blackberries—ever—without thinking of Bill Stafford:Blackberries Are BackBlackberries are back. They cling nearlittle streams. Their eyes, bright mornings,make tunnels through the vines.They see their own thorns in the sky,and the print of leaves.At night they hide inside the wind,ready to try the outdoors on.They swing for distance, root forfidelity. The truth is your only ransomonce they touch your tongue.====And hey—there's your bright morning without the frost!
I hate lonely breakfasts :( Sometimes I find a paper to keep me company, but its never the same as the silence of a friend...
Lonely BreakfastsSometimes I find a paperto keep me company,but it’s never the sameas the silence of a friend.And now you’ve got me thinking about loneliness as an artform....* * *“Blackberries” reads like a page out of Western Oregon’s notebook. It’s interesting, using language so meticulous and precise to depict something that can devour an entire hillside in a single summer. That’s Stafford for you.
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