The First Person, Plural

02/10/17

I have eaten my apology. I am among the others.
One raw gurgle is more frightening. Our teeth are more discolored, our stench
more pungent. Isn’t it enough that “we” has gone missing?
That iceberg was once a church.

There’s a nurse wetting the lead of a stubby pencil. Lost children everywhere. One
baby cries because its twin’s beard stubble gives it a rash. Strange dark diaper flowers.
Duplicated without witness.

The cat was breathing on the bird like it wanted to give it some air, and slowly the
bird stretched a wing and tried to lift off and failed and the cat watched, and breathed on
it, which scared it, and it tried again to fly, this time achieving success until the cat
knocked it down again, and breathed on it.

I suppose it’s a parable then.

Is it not possible to perform good deeds in a failing world?

Sometimes there are jobs for the children even before they can reach the pedals. I
had voted against the postponement of the moon’s fullness and been vetoed by a rowdy
gang of clouds still wet behind the ears. I hope I’ve treated them better than I’ve treated
myself.

And we shall be lowered into the earth and there feed the trees which shall rise up
and carry us once more to the heavens and the grain of the wood shall sign our name.

You still can’t remember what was asked, but you watch the minister’s busy
fingers deflating as you answer.
“We” is quickly becoming something he will not discuss.


Fiction. Modern Abstract Fables.

(First edition, hardcover with dustjacket, 524 pages, $36.50 USD.)



Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days draws from fairy tales, a condescending of a 1938 Social Studies reader for 6th grade, an 1890 handbook on marital compatibility, numerous annoying educational advancement studies, the myths and legends of third-world countries and minority peoples, pulp fiction, a history of carnival side shows, folktales, frequent conversations with Crows, Owls and a wide variety of underground inhabitants, insects and the people who collect them, Joseph Cornell, Günter Eich, Russell Edson, the French Surrealist poets, the Quay Brothers, letterpress printing, and the author’s inability to channel his imagination linearly.

Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.

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