by Richard Brautigan
If I were to live my life
in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond
and you were to come by
one evening
when the moon was shining
down into my dark home
and stand there at the edge
of my affection
and think, "It's beautiful
here by this pond. I wish
somebody loved me,"
I'd love you and be your catfish
friend and drive such lonely
thoughts from your mind
and suddenly you would be
at peace,
and ask yourself, "I wonder
if there are any catfish
in this pond? It seems like
a perfect place for them."
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http://www.flickr.com/photos/oldflints/3539175858/
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To send to you a writ letter,
Oh, how I wish I could!
Sometimes writing is better
With ink and flattened wood.
Alas! The distance, she is great
Between us, you and I.
You o'er in the Great Lakes State,
I o'er in Empi-ah.
I haven't heard from you, my friend,
In far too long a spell.
We need to talk sometime again,
We've many things to tell.
Te echo de menos, mon amigo,
To see your voice again!
To see that green typing, hey nonny lo!
You! Come talk! ¡Tú! ¡Ven!
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