Saturday, January 19, 2008

Incontinence and Festive Hats

(Jan 17/08)

You’re a boorish cant, I’d say. A cuttlefish cut from a ream of broadcloth. I, however, am a Neanderthal, a nave-do-well. (Morton Salt jumped father Van Pelt who in turn jumped over a picket-fence. The alms man watched as the two men, one dressed in too-tight pants and a Scottish tam, the other in loose slacks and a festive runaround hat, fought over an inch of space; the space between two trees, a maple and a southern ash. ‘What a strange spectacle, two men, one in too-tight pants and a Scottish tam, the other in loose slacks and a festive runaround hat, fighting over such a wee tiny space of land, a mere pittance of space, a wee-willy-wee between a maple and a southern ash, strange indeed’). These ‘them’ (all of them) arthritic-episodes are taking there toll on me. They ‘them’ encourage (no coax) incontinence, pea-size pecks of pee-urine.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz
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