သို့
Dear Lilly,
I do not know what I will say in this letter. Maybe I won't say anything. I am very depressed. All I want to do is sleep or cry and the only thing that keeps me from giving in is that more than anything.
So instead of sleeping my day away, I write. Poems, stray thoughts in my journal, and, of course, letters. Sometimes I mail them, like this one to you, and sometimes they are just letters to myself. Sometimes it’s stuff that I don't even know I am going to write like it's coming from someone else's mind but it's in my handwriting.
It's hard to stay focused. What helps is to think about all that's good in the world. Like friendship. Science. Literature.
My new friend and I always argue over poetry. He thinks it must have certain forms and restrictions, and it must be uniform throughout. He is so wrong! Did you ever hear of Ferlinghetti? He wrote, "The penny candy store beyond the El is where I first fell in love with unreality...."
To me, that's so deep. I mean, to mix the familiar with the profound. And to see that underneath the most common "real" thing is its opposite. Who really knows what reality is?
The pennycandystore beyond the El
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
The pennycandystore beyond the El is where I first fell in love with unreality
Jellybeans glowed in the semi-gloom of that september afternoon
A cat upon the counter moved along the licorice sticks and tootsie rolls and Oh Boy Gum
Outside the leaves were falling as they died
A wind had blown away the sun
A girl ran in
Her hair was rainy
Her breasts were breathless in the little room
Outside the leaves were falling and they cried
Too soon! too soon!