Posted by Poetic Outlaws

“I feel my failure intensely
as if it were a vital organ
the gods grew from the side of my head.
You can’t cover it with a hat and I no longer
can sleep on that side it’s so tender.
I wasn’t quite faithful enough
to carry this sort of weight up the mountain.
When I took my vows at nineteen
I had no idea that gods were so merciless.
Fear makes for good servants
and bravery is fraudulent. When I awoke
I wasn’t awake enough.”
~ Jim Harrison

Jim Harrison

Although Jimmy boy was quite a rotter in his lifetime, wasn’t he. Not only that, even to his fans he became a bit of a dirty-old man. Too sad that, that so many men—with or without true artistic credentials—become such lechers when in the presence of the beautiful younger ones. Why do they consider that their value? Their right? Perhaps he is indeed right when he says he wasn’t awake enough.

And he wrote beautiful prose, published some fine books.

For An Erasure

It was in the days when we walked those many blocks downtown and then across the bridge to the beaches of sand that marked the river as much as the current. In those days we did not count the blocks but walked them and so they were not many, or long, but the way to the river. And the Bridge was huge and colorless and arched itself backwards like a gymnast on the mat to span the river and boats and boathouses and beaches themselves and we did not count those steps or the stairs that went down, made of iron rails with open spaces that leapt up, until we reached the ground at the bottom and walked our heated and sweating bodies until our feet could wriggle themselves into the mud that was washed by the river. Cool and fine and timeless. Because we did not count the blocks or the steps and thought that our houses and the downtown and the river were one thing.


Many blocks downtown
many beaches of sand
the way to the river.
The bridge colorless and arched
made of iron with open spaces
until feet wriggle themselves into the mud
washed by the river.