HORRIBLE FIXTURES
Just like the light that comes from nowhere at all,
I am standing knee-deep in the memory of something
I never did : now is the time, let me take it out, bring to
another place, change the kings of references
now. I no longer wish to know their names.
-
My own steed is just now learning to talk - it
prances a bit but then settles down. 'This new
language things alters everything', it says to
itself : who would ever imagine a horse.
-
I am living in the cave at Lascaux : red dye on a
wet wall, a pigment like to blood, a leftover remnant
of all those who've died before : the world's own Yeti,
the abominable snowman from a northern land, a veritable
thing from Hell. Wooly Mammoth. Men have tried slaying less.
No comments:
Post a Comment