Thursday, April 22, 2010

Liver Is the Cock's Comb

The congregation tarred and feathered the vainglorious, dragging then through the dirty streets behind the muleteer’s wagon. Dejesus watched on in horror as the parishioners hobbled a young woman then drove her out into the streets, the men hooting, the women catcalling as she kneeled her way home. ‘The Liver Is the Cock's Comb of the body’ hollered a fat red-faced woman, her roly-poly red-faced child tearing at her skirts. ‘flies and maggots’ bellowed another woman, her hair pulled back in a bun revealing a hook-shaped scar. ‘fucking strange world’ said the Apothecary agent’s son, the brothers grinning from ear-to-ear. After the congregation had disbanded, everyone except for the red-faced woman and her red-faced child who were preoccupied with their reflections in the grocer’s window, the brothers handed the Apothecary agent’s son a bundle of small bills, the littlest on the top, the largest on the bottom and thanking him walked northeasterly, the sun setting behind the Waymart spire.

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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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