poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

i read this poem first, many years ago. it struck me (as most of brautigan's poems do) as honest and simple like the writing of a child. Maybe too simple to be called "great" but frankly, who gives a shit about that? the fact that i have gone back to this little poem time and time again over the last decade is a testament to the power of simple, direct writing and to brautigan's style.

The utter simplicity of Brautigan's description of the pain he's feeling-- maybe not necessarily pain, but his sense of loss-- is, to say the least, beautiful. You can just see that dark, empty apartment.