Hayden Carruth… by Brian Morrisey

you died
and there are no more angry letters
or poems about flowers
in the New York times
thrown upon this grave of

blood-scathed corrupt war
we know today

there are no cigarettes lit
by late night jazz saxaphones
under the poetry

I am writing a poem about your frozen hands
scraping the windshield of that old ford pickup
in rural Vermont while chewing skoal
and quoting Li Young-Lee
because I too write from experience

or the nervous twitch in your stutter
from being so alone
or whiskey by the fire
how it burned us in the end
but I will still sit here
with your spirit
and letters to Jane Kenyon
and the cancer in her step
and taking adrenaline of fear
like a salute
to living through today
even if we’re dying

while Donald Hall writes about
a leaf falling gently
upon the broken promise
of a scared husband

I will piss on the latest issue
of POETRY magazine
because Christian Wiman
murdered your ideal poem
and only a New Englander
can make such a bold homage
in your name.

9 Responses to “Hayden Carruth… by Brian Morrisey”

  1. Brian Morrisey lives in Santa Cruz, surfs to kill the stereotype, runs
    marathons to tame insanity and shows up to host a local open mike sometimes when he is not reading 1,233,417,211.05 submissions pulled from his closet or backseat of his car in an attempt to publish the poetry rag POESY. He steals wisdom from David Lerner and Ann Sexton while listening to XV through a broken i-Phone in the purest hours of 5-8 a.m. each day before looking through the rain mocking Corporate America with pure unadulterated bullshit participation.

  2. kick ass poem

  3. Embraces what I feel today. I needed to read this.


  4. Eugenia Petty Says:

    Excellent, exellent excellent!

    I guess you reading Poetry mag is like Leon watching Fox News: it’s all spin, but it’s good to know what the other side is saying. Until I read this poem I thought Christian Wiman was a pseudonym for an Anita Bryant type.


  6. Amazing poem. I love it.

  7. Joie Cook Says:

    I am glad you are influenced by my dear departed best ‘babarian’ buddy,
    David Lerner. He would feel honored, I know. Great poem…

  8. Hey Brian. Take it easy on the “fortune cookies” while you are in china.

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