The Shirtless Sherpa

(zassafraz factor:11)

Was it the shirt he forgot? He drove a leopard to work. It was the Himalayas so of course the high altitude can be used as an excuse. No gas in the car, no air in the tires, it was a reason to exhale. People tended to be silly, but so what – it was not that kind of September.

Of poison there was too much, of pizza not enough. Things were frozen and jellied, swollen and brown like too much muckraking. Bisons exploded along the water and nobody wiped the entrails. Many prawns died in the flute nook.

Did envelopes matter anymore? Of course someone’s cousin always cornered the gazpacho and drank, until Tuesday seemed like a better idea than Wednesday. It was a dissociation of vocabulary that drew elliptical tangents together in a coherent driving rhythm. But where were the denouements when you needed them? And why whisper to the wallpaper; things get written anyway, whether observing or absorbing.

For instance, last October eleven tapioca muffins congregated at a stool. And a bartender bet his retirement savings on a sixpack.

(a letter on behalf of my nephew, who cannot yet read:)
Dear Santa,
My nephew J is cute. He likes Star Wars and Superman but I think Star Wars even more. Master Yoda once called me and asked if J would like to be a Jedi. I said ''He would be a good Jedi one day’. Anyway I think you should give him a new lightsabre but only if he eats his own food and not the food on the floor.

the Dog

1 comment:

Char said...

Best letter to Santa EVER.