This week’s Monday Poem is by Richard Brautigan. He is best known for his novel “Trout Fishing in America.” In 1984, he died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound.
This snippet has been circulating on Tumblr for months and every time I stumble upon it, I cannot help but think how love crazy people sometimes are. That we can burn physical bridges but never the emotional ones. And how I can remain an ad for the sale of a haunted house, waiting for you to place your bid.
“I feel as if I am an ad
for the sale of a haunted house:
ghosts and all.”