Some poetry from Richard Brautigan: 1942 Piano tree, play in the dark concert halls of my uncle, twenty-six years old, dead and homeward bound on a ship from Sitka, his coffin travels like the fingers of Beethoven over a glass of wine. Piano tree, play in the dark concert halls of my uncle, a legend of my childhood, dead, they send him back to Tacoma. At night his coffin travels like the birds that fly beneath the sea, never touching the sky. Piano tree, play in the dark concert halls of my uncle, take his heart for a lover and take his death for a bed, and send him homeward bound on a ship from Sitka to bury him where I was born. IT’S RAINING IN LOVE I don’t know what it is, But I distrust myself When I start to like a girl A lot. It makes me nervous. I don’t say the right things Or perhaps I start To examine, Evaluate, Compute What I am saying. If I say, “Do you think it’s going to rain?” and she says, “I don’t know,” I start thinking: Does she really like me? In other words I get a little creepy. A friend of mine once said, “It’s twenty times better to be friends with someone than it is to be in love with them.” I think he’s right and besides, its raining somewhere, programming flowers and keeping snails happy. That’s all taken care of. BUT if a girl likes me a lot and starts getting real nervous and suddenly begins asking me funny questions and looks sad if I give the wrong answers and she says things like, “Do you think it’s going to rain?” and I say, “It beats me,” and she says, “Oh,” and looks a little sad at the clear blue California sky, I think: Thank God, it’s you, baby, this time Instead of me. THE MOON VERSES US EVER SLEEPING TOGETHER AGAIN I sit here, an arch-villain of romance, thinking about you. Gee, I'm sorry I made you unhappy, but there was nothing I could do about it because I have to be free. Perhaps everything would have been different if you had stayed at the table or asked me to go out with you to look at the moon, instead of getting up and leaving me alone with her.