La Luna (the whorish dog)
I am no-man, lumen of thought and grandeur. I have a cuff at the base of my skullcap, a ganglion of hard cellulous bone, a wren’s wing varicose with lattice-bone and hard as whooping cough. When I was a child, a boy with stark whitest white hair whorled on the flat cone of my head, I would make whooping and yawing calls to awaken my mother from the dread of her sleep. I recall standing, knees stirrup(ed) into the coop of my chest, scowling and reaming at the moon, la Luna countess ferocious. My father, clad in skin and tallow, scud me into the cradle of his arms, forewarning me of the terror of night and the petulance of the whorish fat moon. Jaundice, he said, she is a yellow whore with evil scorpion’s eyes. You would do best to stay clear of her, as she’ll grab the heart from the scrum of your chest and eat it like a ravenous dog. I am in love with la Luna, the whorish dog that she is.
I am no-man, lumen of thought and grandeur. I have a cuff at the base of my skullcap, a ganglion of hard cellulous bone, a wren’s wing varicose with lattice-bone and hard as whooping cough. When I was a child, a boy with stark whitest white hair whorled on the flat cone of my head, I would make whooping and yawing calls to awaken my mother from the dread of her sleep. I recall standing, knees stirrup(ed) into the coop of my chest, scowling and reaming at the moon, la Luna countess ferocious. My father, clad in skin and tallow, scud me into the cradle of his arms, forewarning me of the terror of night and the petulance of the whorish fat moon. Jaundice, he said, she is a yellow whore with evil scorpion’s eyes. You would do best to stay clear of her, as she’ll grab the heart from the scrum of your chest and eat it like a ravenous dog. I am in love with la Luna, the whorish dog that she is.
1 comment:
nice.
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