Coffee, joint and Dylan - holiday breakfast on a wet Glasgow morning
Then I went back into the house and wrote, It is midnight. The rain is beating on the windows. It was not midnight. It was not raining.
— Samuel Beckett, Molloy
Ah, they’ll never, they’ll never ever reach the moon,
at least not the one that we’re after;
it’s floating broken on the open sea, look out there, my friends,
and it carries no survivors.
But let’s leave these lovers wondering
why they cannot have each other
I lift—lift you five States away your glass, Wide of this bar you never graced, where none Ever I know came, where what work is done Even by these men I know not, where a brass Police-car sign peers in, wet strange cars pass, Soiled hangs the rag of day out over this town, A juke-box brains air where I drink alone, The spruce barkeep sports a toupee alas— My glass I lift at six o'clock, my darling, As you plotted... Chinese couples shift in bed, We shared today not even filthy weather, Beasts in the hills their tigerish love are snarling, Suddenly they clash, I blow my short ash red, Grey eyes light! and we have our drink together.
-- John Berryman, Sonnet 13
But I knew that you
WIth your heart beating
And your eyes shining
Would be dreaming of me
Lying with you
On a Tuesday morning
Blow up some balloons! It’s Bob Dylan’s birthday!