Friday, June 04, 2010

Chapel Hat

He used to eat dog. ‘stop fidgeting’ barked the Witness. ‘you’re distracting me’. Now he eats mutton. And then he grew, growing taller and taller until the top of his head reached the last pencil mark on the doorframe. He used to fuck canaries (whippoorwill-whippoorwill) his mamma slapping him hard upside the head yelling ‘you’re a dirty selfish boy!’ On the Feast of the Calf he stole the rector’s chapel hat and hid it in the commode pot at the back of the closet. ‘that’ll show the cunt to box a boy’s ears when he’s facing the altar’ he whispered ‘keeps ugly babies from being made, heads all cone-shaped and blubbery’. Never know when a miscreant or a dullard’ll be born. Shit out two at a time, tiny misshapen bodies grappling for air. Twice in one day; left a beard of shit in the commode pot. Damn tricky trying to scrub the wee shits out of the hummer. Parturition hole torn right split down the middle, nurse raking entrails off the tabletop grimacing. Never can tell which end will come out first. Came out all mottled upside down, cut the spay-cord just above the placenta. Less blood-letting that way, easier on an aching back. Pulled ‘em out like taffy, legs all twisted bent outwards slightly. ‘you’re a dirty selfish boy!’ Now I’ll have to slap you upside the head hard, sassy dirty boy. That summer Lela found a diary behind the pumphouse. Hid there by whippoorwill or a crank hoping no one’d find it. “June 4th, my bleedings smell like alkahest and my cunt like shibboleth. Must tell mamma before the sky falls again.”

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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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