Friday, February 22, 2008

Grammar School Ciphering

(February 22/08)

Fijian spearmint chewing gum, a sweet treacle treat….mammy good. I wish I had a sou'wester with a wide-brim and a catoninetails feather, then maybe I could pull a rarebit out of a rabbit’s bottom, side up. Five days before my hurrying into the fray, two knocks of lager and an alewife’s hurrah. I recall witnessing the advent of my becoming, thrice times three divided by 27½…gobspit and gallows humor, black bile and Aristotle’s ticker and nod, nary a mum’s rest for the thigh-weary and grunt.

da
poached
flies with the
cob of his tongue
drawing blood
blacker than
quid

I remember seeing a farmer’s truck parked in front of the drive-thru spiriter’s, a garish thread of chaw-spittle franking the side door. The fat tam-hatter swung swinging the door ajar, a hornets’ bell jangling the jamb free high. I was boy, a fine wee specimen of a boy, knee-britches and a cowboys’ hat, the farmer’s wife offering me a stick of chewing gum slacker than a cows’ teats and harder than grammar-school ciphering.

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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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