My Sick Friend Yellows. I Spill the Horse.
After the curtain call licks death’s stain, soup happens and the absence cavorts.
Chortle me, Mr. Whimple, I can’t see the iceberg.
Cork furniture in the razor blade’s apartment. It’s impossible to be that polite.
Then a furnace without arms or legs scorching his dog feet with black honey. A
glop bucket of blue stars spilling from the doomed ruminants.
The juice of burgled buildings. The tunnel of a cow.
A slippery Canadian incandescence. A virtual paranoia of evening silk. The
incredible rebellion of a kind word asleep offstage.
I didn’t ask. So I was allowed. The Northern Lights became historical.
The table wins. The chair wins. The play goes on without me.
My sick friend does not know he has found the applause. Soup happens and
happens and he doesn’t notice.
The last animal of his fever escapes from the milky substance waiting patiently for
the encore. He seems to be me all right, but some of us want a second opinion.
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.