Hemingway's Hangover (The Lost Generation) Poem by Thomas Hooker

Braided streams of sunlight mingle with the
stones working together in the rock garden,

between the shadows select words rain down
from a fountain of truth, Hemingway's hangover,

lost in a world war, scrubbing at the edges,
filling out the hidden parts of the iceberg,

whittling down the discourse in his drink,
taking alone fundamental shapes, only the

crucial parts of dialogue matter to invisible
metaphors, verbose narration left on the shelf,

the best omissions, from a lost generation,
off the hook, forever free of themselves.