A Poem For Sunday

“I Dreamed I Met William Burroughs” by Franz Wright:

I met William Burroughs in a dream.
It was some sort of bohemian farmhouse,
and he was enthroned, small and skeletal,
in a truly gigantic red armchair.

When I asked him how he was, he replied,
Well, you know what they say—for best results
always mock and frighten lobster before boiling.
Franz—I like that name, Franz. Childe Franz

to the dark tower something or other . . . Hey,
got a smoke? And quit worrying so much:
they can’t help themselves, they’re like abused dogs
and they’re going to react to affection and kindness

with uncontrollable savagery. Just tell them,
You’re out of my mind, pal. You’re out
of my mind. Either that or, I’m out of yours.
That’ll keep them brain-chained to their trees.