Thursday, November 12, 2009

Counting Clouds

Marušić carried a picture of his mamma in a blue dress wearing a pair of the Vincennes Co’s. finest gloves holding a twisted nosegay. Alex Degrande and Simon Drogue tend to the animals, feeding the dogs, horses and oxen from nosebags. The Antinomianist’s congregate behind the Waymart. Unbeknownst to all Marušić jacked the ball and called in nines, the largest fattest Antinomianist yowling ‘yuck yak a daisy… give it back you scoundrel’. Not one to be batfowled by simpletons and dolts Marušić let go with a resounding fart, too to toot to too to toot, his spit-valve willowing the wisp. This is nonsense, pure and simple. All this is is it not? ‘the library is closed’ announced the head librarian sternly, ‘so do go home… please do’. The last time this happened the sky fell, or almost did fell. It did fell almost the sky did that day that last time. All things fell falling almost at the same same time that last time. They did did they that time? The horses and oxen ate from nosebags, the dogs from plastic bowls laid out under the starlit sky. Alex Degrande and Simon Drogue congregate behind the Waymart, the Antinomianist’s having gone home. ‘Ship’s Day falls on a Thursday, not on a Sunday’ said the man in the hat, ‘surely’. The day had taken its toll on the man in the hat, his head sore as trampled ants and bayberries. Its never too late (nor too soon) to learn a new trick.

Blattzinn & Stagniol stood under the Waymart awning counting clouds in the rue gray sky. 1,2,4 7, 1000 they counted. 1001, 2000, naught. Counting they recounted those they saw twice, but in different configurations and places in the sky. They wore tin-foil caps punched out and folded to fit snuggly on the crown of the head.

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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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