Sunday, April 05, 2009

Badajoz Extremadura

I like watching children yawn; all those ivory white teeth. Looking from left to right he measures the distance between the Waymart parking lot and the aqueduct, determined to make it back and forth in 27½ seconds flat. A return trip might take considerable (m)ore time and eff(or)t. I like to watch the old yawn; all those rotten apples waiting to fall from the tree. The Dungarvan Bros. of Waterford have a hard on for the Badajoz Bros. of Extremadura, both Bros. sharing a hard on for the Villeneuve’s of Bourgogne. …all that cream and not a cow in the paddock! The Dungarvan Bros. (of Waterford) haven’t a tosspot to piss in (having sold theirs’ for a whim and a dirge) wagering that they could vault the aqueduct in one fell swoop. Coming up short, by a hands’ length, they gave over their tossé without a piss or a moan, saying as they did '...but they haven’t a cow in the paddock...'. Dejesus offered his full-pledged sorrow ‘…all that barking will get them nowhere, and fast…’ The man in the hat stood under the Seder grocer’s awning counting the jiffies between raindrops. Off in the distance a woman in a lambskin slicker stood counting the raindrops between jiffies. A round trip cost more; double the cost for twice the convenience. Cirebon Jawa Barat leapt across the sideways, his head squished between his legs. As quick as he appeared he disappeared, never to be seen again. ‘…if I had a fiver for every time I had a nickel I’d be a rich man…’ said the alms man counting the coppers in his cap.

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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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