Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Hector and Aquitaine

Verlag yanked hard on his mamma’s skirts, ‘mamma, mamma the clowns are frightening me’. ‘wipe your mouth’ said his mamma loudly. ‘but they’re staring at me mamma’ he wept. ‘that’s none of your business’ replied his mamma, ‘now is it?’ Hector and Aquitaine waved their big white gloved hands at him, Hector slapping Aquitaine on the back laughing. That summer the circus came to town twice, once in May and once in late August. Chakra the choker went twice, Verlag at the end of August. The man in the hat went three times, twice in May and once in early July. Later that summer, long after the circus had packed up and left town, leaving behind a circle of brown grass and three overflowing buckets of stale beery piss, the man in the hat found a hatbox squished between a boulder and a tree, and in that hatbox he found three whore’s gloves and a note, ‘to whomever finds this box please, if you can and may, find the missing and fourth glove, her sisters miss her dearly’. Toting the hatbox home under his arm, the man in the hat mused ‘first I must find the Vincennes Glove Company… then steal my way passed the guards’.

1 comment:

Pearl said...

goodly surreal.

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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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