3628. HOW TO PROFANE WHAT I SHOULD NOT DO

HOW TO PROFANE WHAT

 I SHOULD NOT DO

The cloth by the window edging was

piled up  -  colored cuttings, all bad

angles and leftover snips  -  the stuff

only a crafter could love : those crank

ladies who make their cast-off scrapbook

collages and the hobbyists of another

nature. Some six a.m. light was

struggling in  -  the room was flooded.

-

Glass in the door threw lines to the

wall  -  thinking of prism and color, I

thought to amend what I saw : a few

multi-colored flagons of life and love,

myriad markings leaving traces on

things we may have touched. Human

animal, with its tongue that never stops

talking. The twist of the story is the

twist of the end. They never tell the

little orphan his father is dead.

-

Multi-man, what have you bludgeoned today?

Cut? Ripped? Presumed to build? 'Even the

wreckage of old Europe is tempting to the

young. Creative. Contrary. Restless. ' I

took that line from Williams, with you to

guess the rest  - pompous, cast-off animal.

-

['I love my fellow creature. Jesus how I love

him : endways, sideways, frontways and

all the other ways  -  but he doesn't exist,

and neither does she. I do, but in

a bastardly sort of way.']

-

There is right now a quaint silence in

this very sick room  -  all things askew,

broken angles, no straight lines, piles

of papers and books. And I have to ask

(no, to no one) why am I here, how can

I be, where can I go? The wind has

breached the lintel, the clock on the

wall has stopped, and even the wires

atop the counter from the toaster are

frayed and severed. What next will be

coming? I have no one here to ask.

-

I need to be satisfied with substitutes, like

a really bad condensed milk when only

rich cream should do, or some false

glitter instead of the diamond of you.