Not yet 40, my beard is already white. in  General   

Not yet 40, my beard is already white.
Not yet awake, my eyes are puffy and red,
like a child who has cried too much.

What is more disagreeable
than last night's wine?

I'll shave.
I'll stick my head in the cold spring and
look around at the pebbles.
Maybe I can eat a can of peaches.

Then I can finish the rest of the wine,
write poems 'til I'm drunk again,
and when the afternoon breeze comes up

I'll sleep until I see the moon
and the dark trees
and the nibbling deer

and hear
the quarreling coons

By Lew Welch

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Other poems by Lew Welch:

• Dear Joanne
• I Saw Myself
• Not yet 40, my beard is already white.
• Taxi Suite (excerpt: 1. After Anacreon)
• The image, as in a Hexagram: