Friday, May 25, 2007

THE CURATORS/song # 1 : dream 76, mr.bones

Nothin very bad happen to me lately.
How you explain that? —I explain that, Mr Bones,
terms o' your bafflin odd sobriety.
Sober as man can get, no girls, no telephones,
what could happen bad to Mr Bones?
—If life is a handkerchief sandwich,

in a modesty of death I join my father
who dared so long agone leave me.
A bullet on a concrete stoop
close by a smothering southern sea
spreadeagled on an island, by my knee.
—You is from hunger, Mr Bones,

I offers you this handkerchief, now set
your left foot by my right foot,
shoulder to shoulder, all that jazz,
arm in arm, by the beautiful sea,
hum a little, Mr Bones.
—I saw nobody coming, so I went instead.


Blogger facialanomaly said...

please read my fictional blog journal

6:46 PM  
Anonymous the narcissi said...

I miss him. When I return to the lake, I'll pull him out. I'll place him in front of me, so he too can watch me. I will talk to him. I want to tell him I miss him. I want to know if he misses me too. I think, one face will do instead of two.

11:55 PM  

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