Press "Enter" to skip to content

Month: September 2010

weeds

I had a dream I lost 100 pounds
as a single whisker grew from my chin a yard long
I was to cultivate this hair and worry over it until it suited my new devastation

In my dream my wife discovered lawn care
supplanting  my need for order with her own and not looking at me as often now
Too soon my fantastic whisker felt this treble of change and the thrill was gone from it altogether

In my dream I was relegated to a small corner of the yard
ensconced in stone and forever to be tinkered with by birds and bugs and crayon-fisted fungi
in a dream of digested music of all this world’s gears and gnashings while my whisker grew and steadily unraveled my place in it

This and other changes assemble in the low shade of the late afternoon,
where crane flies do somersaults upon the dimming hour
like weeds cut loose from all earthly obligation

How to rethink an odd smell as mischievous

take Ronove, for example, a Marquis and Great Earl of the underworld. He teaches Rhetoric, languages, debating and gives good and loyal servants the favor of boot and lash. He is suspected to be a taker of old souls; coming to earth to harvest souls of decrepit humans, overfed pets, and the chronically slack-jawed. He can alter objects in your pockets, shorten the left leg of a charging enemy, and is disarmingly talkative and friendly all the while. He is modest and will only take what he can safely consume in a sitting. He is a devotee of fire and caustics and specializes in multi-tonal displays. He emits much peripheral gaseous noise and tries to disguise this with chants and incantations, often switching languages mid-syllable. He is often depicted as inquisitive with a hand cocked to his ear, and sometimes iconized as a single goat head surrounded by a radial array of 5 goat legs. All who claim to have endured him recount an odor of true Ceylon cinnamon and toluene, but can offer no real proof beyond the anecdotal.