Friday, April 25, 2008

Red Jujubes and Queenly Whores

A cataract moon hung low in the night sky, a blind beggar with a cane and an earflap hat. All sky’s are black, some so black they appear absent of colour. The moon is a whore, a gluttonous syphilitic whore. The stars are track-marks, chicken-scratch. The moon and the stars and the sky are beggars, begging for colour and light, life and death, penicillin and soaves. The moon is a whore, the queen of whores, the whorish queen of whores. The stars are the scrimshaw on a pinpricked arm, the sharp end of a hollow rod, chicken-scratch, the absence of colour and light. His great-grandmamma like Gin and crabapple juice, English cucumber and woman’s loafers. He liked hats and hat-makers, red jujubes and queenly whores.

1 comment:

John MacDonald said...

Red Jujubes will never be the same now.

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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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