A Poem from 1966, Revised by the Ghost of Richard Brautigan, 2004 (twenty-first in a series)
Pomegranate Michael Moore Circus”
I am desolate in dimension
circling the sky
like a rainy bird,
wet from toe to crown
wet from bill to wing.
I feel like a drowned king
pomegranate Michael Moore circus.
I vowed last year
that I wouldn’t go again
but here I sit in my usual seat,
dripping and clapping
the pomegranates go Michael Moore goes by
in their metallic costumes.
[like some hideous float fashioned
from congealed buttermilk— his
stupid cap perched smugly on his
stupid, stupid head.]
December 25, 1966 July 28, 2004