Brautigan Friday, The Galilee Hitch-Hiker, Part 6

Salvador Dali

"Are you
or aren't you
going to eat
your soup,
you bloody old
cloud merchant?"
Jeanne Duval
shouted,
hitting Baudelaire
on the back
as he sat
daydreaming
out the window.
Baudelaire was
startled.
Then he laughed
like hell,
waving his spoon
in the air
like a wand
changing the room
into a painting
by Salvador
Dali, changing
the room
into a painting
by Van Gogh.

Is it just me or is it getting hard to imagine Fridays without Brautigan? What are we going to do when we run out?

Today, a bonus prose-poem from Jeanne Duval's cloud-peddling lover:

The Soup and the Clouds

My madcap little beloved was making me dinner and through
the open window of the dining room I was contemplating the
moving architecture that God fashions from mists, the marvelous
constructions of the impalpable. And I was saying to myself,
in mid-contemplation: “All that phantasmagoria is almost as
beautiful as the eyes of my beautiful beloved, the monstrous
little madwoman with her green eyes.”

And suddenly I received a violent punch in the back and I
heard a husky and charming voice, a hysterical voice, a voice
made hoarse with brandy, the voice of my dear little beloved,
saying, “Are you going to hurry up and eat your soup, or aren’t you,
you goddamn cloud merchant?”

--Charles Baudelaire