Sunday, January 30, 2005
'look here it is.'
"jesus found an ass and sat upon it."
--John 12:14
the old man was sitting on the green bench in the park. he was respectable in his faded suit and tie, looking like an ordinary and sane old man, which was why it was odd to see a wine bottle wrapped in brown paper which he would cradle in his hand.
with the other hand he was reaching into the plastic bag and breaking off pieces of bread, throwing them to the pigeons. a two-year-old boy, dressed warmly for the clammy weather, rounded a bend in the path, scattering the pigeons in a yelling run. as the pigeons dispersed, he noticed the old man, staring at the wrinkled face that hovered above the yellowish chemise and graying sportcoat. he squealed, clasping his hands beside his cheek, then stomped away, looking periodically over his shoulder.
the man continued to feed the pigeons, and just as he acquired a reasonable crowd of birds, the child returned, steaming headlong, screaming until they all took to the air and nestled on the wires that crossed above their heads.
for several days, both the man and the child continued to play their new game together in the park. as the man would amass his pidgeons by the bench, he came to do so only so the young boy could round the bend in the path at full steam, bellowing his nonsensical battle cry.
the child's mother had a habit of stopping at a bench near the sunlit front gate of the park, knitting and chatting with another caretaker, a young blonde woman whose charge was a girl about the age of her boy. while her son wandered the paths, the joyous screams and the fluttering of gray wings came to signal that her son was safe behind the curtain of trees.
one morning, as the park opened, the old man found himself without enough money to buy a loaf of bread. he cradled his wine, of which some remained from the night before, and nevertheless sat at his accustomed bench, taking occasional sips and stomping at the rare approaching pigeon.
at the proper hour, the boy rounded the bend at full steam, and began to cry out, but quickly came to a stop; there were no pigeons now, only that old wrinkled face that took shallow breaths from a paper bag that was held near its chin.
the park had been constructed around an old chapel. in this chapel, monks used to commit various works of wisdom to paper, and on each day, several of the surrounding townspeople would enter the chapel's main hall to engage in brief, perfunctory prayer.
now that enormous cathedrals had been built to accomodate the exploding growth of the city, the mayor had commissioned the chapel's small surrounding parcel of land as a park. now, in the center of the interweaving paths and trees, lay this small stone building, a little ways from the old man and the boy.
noticing that his former playthings had departed to find richer companions, the young boy cast about for a new diversion. his eyes rested momentarily on the old man, who sat appraising him, finishing now the remainder of his wine, then shifted immediately to the ancient chapel that sat at the end of the path. he bolted past the old man and, upon reaching the stairs, began to crawl towards the oak door.
"the boy will get himself in trouble, playing around in there," the old man thought as he walked towards the chapel. "hey, lad! get back here! away from that staircase." the boy turned and giggled at the old man. the door was left ajar on the right, and so the child braced himself against the left block of wood and pushed with all his infant might until he could slip behind the closing oak behemoth.
when the man neared the top of the stairs, he could already hear squeals of delight and the tramping of tiny boots against the marble flooring. he opened the door and entered the chapel, clutching his empty wine bottle.
the chapel, dimly lit by the gray light that filtered through the stained glass, was humbly small from the inside. the thick walls seemed designed more to ward off attack than to shepherd God's flock into His house. the man's old eyes had difficulty adjusting to the darkness. he could hear the boy scampering about, among the pews. presently, the scampering stopped.
the man, old and unaccustomed to the adventures of the very young, attempted to brace himself against the wall beside him with his free hand. he slipped against the fount of holy water, and he fell. his free hand felt the cold blessing of the still water that lay in the pool, and as his rump hit the floor. the empty wine bottle clanked against the tile as he scattered holy fluid all around him. he heard quiet giggles from the young boy, now clear to the opposite end of the chapel.
upon rousting himself, the old man cast about. his eyes now adjusted to the depth of darkness of the chapel. his eyes rested on the carpeted altar at the front of the church. standing there, under the crucifix, was the little boy, standing on a chair he had no doubt placed there, reaching up to open the tabernacle.
"oh, god. oh shit." the old man limped among the pews, which, rearranged for cleaning, presented a difficult maze to negotiate. the old man periodically bumped the old wine bottle against the pews' bookends as he weaved his way towards the altar. by the time he did arrive, the boy was leaping from the chair, holding a stack of hosts and a small glass canteen of wine. the boy darted off the altar just as the old man arrived, shooting past him and scampering among, under, and over the pews as an ant does when sticks are placed in its path. soon, he had squeezed back out of the chapel door.
a godless man his entire life, the old man was now suffering from a combined irritation at the young boy's disrespect and the small unease, fueled by sudden self-doubt, felt by an atheist in the house of God. he desired, more than anything, to be immediately back outside, wiping his unintentionally holy hand off, and nursing his sore hip on his green bench, perhaps borrowing a few cents to get himself another bottle of wine. he trudged unevenly among the pews back out the front door.
upon leaving the chapel, the man, blinded by the gray light that assaulted his eyes unfiltered, ghasped. he dropped his empty bottle of wine, shattering it against the chapel steps. his old eyes could make out the figure of the little boy about fifty feet off, dancing and shouting to himself, breaking the hosts and scattering them about him as pigeons flocked to him by droves never seen by the old man in all his years of befriending the filthy, gray birds. the boy broke off bit after bit of the dry, unleavened bread, and with each fragment scattered to the breeze another five or so pigeons appeared to materialize from the trees overhead, swooping down to peck at the dusty feast.
by the time the old man had reached the bottom of the steps, hundreds of birds had gathered around the little boy. "boy, stop this very minute! we will both be in trouble if you don't quit!" the man took the unreasoning tone of one who talks to a child who cannot yet talk, let alone reason, but still argues with or ignores every command and admonishment. the pigeons continued to flock.
as the man arrived at the boy, trying his best not to hurt the pidgeons as they continued to flood around him, sometimes lighting immediately underfoot as he stepped, the mother rounded the corner in the path, strolling with the young caretaker she had befriended. the mother's new friend wore a cap over her straight blonde hair and held at her side a girl of about the little boy's age, who was also dressed in red.
upon seeing the boy scattering the bread to an increasing wind and a multiplying throng of pigeons, the mother's blue eyes widened, and she held a hand out to stop the procession of her young friend, meanwhile darting towards the old man, who had finally joined the boy at the center of the crowd of birds.
"what do you mean by all of this? giving the boy the sacred bread to scatter it to the birds? have you lost your mind?" she noticed the wine bottle. "you old drunk! stay away from my son!" her words peppered the old man, who stood dumbfounded as breadcrumbs sailed about the both of them, resting on their clothes, on the ground and in the mouths of the pigeons who continued to flock.
remembering her child, she turned to him. "oh, my boy!" she picked him up bodily, then tried to carry him over the birds. the boy, however, continued to throw crumbs, and the birds followed them, leaving the old man as she processed back towards her youthful friend.
the young girl, who to this point had merely watched the sea of fowl in dumbfounded amazement, now realizing that this untold mass of playthings was massing toward her, relinquished the hand of her caretaker and bolted, headlong, straight for the mother and her child, uttering a cry only heard from two-year-old girls and larger birds of prey. she was soon on the periphary of the thousands of ensuing pigeons.
the birds' wings produced an enormous thunder as, in a great wave, they took flight from the giant red creature that attacked them mirthfully at full speed. the mother clutched the child to her, and covered her eyes as her vision was engulfed by a closet of gray birds and her ears were clogged by the alarmed coos of her son's flock. the little girl continued to run about, screaming, as the birds took flight. their numbers momentarily blocked the gray light from reaching the path through the trees, and soon they had all departed.
as soon as she could stop laughing, the red-capped babysitter recaptured her little miscreant, gleefully--and only partially--admonishing her charge as she removed her around the corner of the path. the old man was now sitting flat on the ground, spewing forth a rusty chuckle and pausing occasionally to wipe some bread crumbs from the front of his jacket.
the mother of the little boy, aware that the pigeons had fled, slowly relaxed her sheltering hold on the boy, and presently set him down on the ground. then, she noticed the small glass container the boy had tucked into the large pocket of his jacket, and began the agonizing attempts at wrestling the plaything from her child. as the squeals mounted, the old man, regaining a sense of responsibility for the entire scene, roused himself and ambled over to the pair. as he arrived, the mother finally wrested the bottle from her son, and so returned her attention to him.
"you old drunk! have you no reverence?" she pointed the canteen at the old man, accusingly.
"i'm terribly sorry, madam. the child simply escaped me. someone must have left the chapel doors open." the old man eyed the canteen, thirstily.
the woman began to gesture wildly with the canteen. "you reprobate! you allowed my child to enter a dark, forsaken chapel alone, then encouraged him to rob the Body and the Blood from the altar!" the glass caught occasional rays of gray light and bounced them about on the ground. "my child! my poor child!" she repeated this, hysterical now, several times. upon her final gesture, her hand lost its grasp of the container and the vessel sailed straight up through the air, rotating slowly. it thumped against an overhanging treebranch, scattering several birds, then began its haphazard descent towards the ground.
with a presence of mind he had not known for years, which was no doubt fueled by the self-preservation instincts awakened in one confronted by the wrath of a protective mother, the man reached into the air, and caught, in his now very cold hand, the glass container of the Blood. a dumb smile of partial redemption crossed his face and he turned his rheumy eyes to meet the blue ones of the mother.
"well," said the woman, now recomposed, if slightly flustered by her own fervor, "since now you have the wine, here is the bread. i trust you'll remedy this situation." she grabbed the bread from her boy, and, indicating the chapel that lay immediately beyond the old man's green bench, handed it to the old man. "you're lucky i don't call the police on you: a drunken menace to our young ones."
"thank you, madam," the old man replied. "you rest assured: i will not be playing with your child anymore."
"i should say so. he and i won't be returning here. of that i'm certain."
with that, the mother turned back toward the bend in the path, carrying her boy with her, stroking his hair. "don't worry, that man won't bother you any longer."
alone again on the path, the old man turned, nursing his hip and carrying the new glass container, along with the bread, over to his green bench. he gazed down the path, and, as the woman rounded the bend with her little boy, he cast about to see if anyone was looking, chuckled to himself, and opened the canteen. looking furtively about again, he took a sip and broke off some crumbs from the hosts. several birds descended from the trees and wires. the man took another sip, and broke off some more bread.
as he sat there, some minutes later, rubbing his hip and taking occasional sips from his bottle, the red-coated young girl rounded the corner, and, seeing a mass of birds gathered around the old man, squealed, lowered her head, and began to charge.
"jesus found an ass and sat upon it."
--John 12:14
the old man was sitting on the green bench in the park. he was respectable in his faded suit and tie, looking like an ordinary and sane old man, which was why it was odd to see a wine bottle wrapped in brown paper which he would cradle in his hand.
with the other hand he was reaching into the plastic bag and breaking off pieces of bread, throwing them to the pigeons. a two-year-old boy, dressed warmly for the clammy weather, rounded a bend in the path, scattering the pigeons in a yelling run. as the pigeons dispersed, he noticed the old man, staring at the wrinkled face that hovered above the yellowish chemise and graying sportcoat. he squealed, clasping his hands beside his cheek, then stomped away, looking periodically over his shoulder.
the man continued to feed the pigeons, and just as he acquired a reasonable crowd of birds, the child returned, steaming headlong, screaming until they all took to the air and nestled on the wires that crossed above their heads.
for several days, both the man and the child continued to play their new game together in the park. as the man would amass his pidgeons by the bench, he came to do so only so the young boy could round the bend in the path at full steam, bellowing his nonsensical battle cry.
the child's mother had a habit of stopping at a bench near the sunlit front gate of the park, knitting and chatting with another caretaker, a young blonde woman whose charge was a girl about the age of her boy. while her son wandered the paths, the joyous screams and the fluttering of gray wings came to signal that her son was safe behind the curtain of trees.
one morning, as the park opened, the old man found himself without enough money to buy a loaf of bread. he cradled his wine, of which some remained from the night before, and nevertheless sat at his accustomed bench, taking occasional sips and stomping at the rare approaching pigeon.
at the proper hour, the boy rounded the bend at full steam, and began to cry out, but quickly came to a stop; there were no pigeons now, only that old wrinkled face that took shallow breaths from a paper bag that was held near its chin.
the park had been constructed around an old chapel. in this chapel, monks used to commit various works of wisdom to paper, and on each day, several of the surrounding townspeople would enter the chapel's main hall to engage in brief, perfunctory prayer.
now that enormous cathedrals had been built to accomodate the exploding growth of the city, the mayor had commissioned the chapel's small surrounding parcel of land as a park. now, in the center of the interweaving paths and trees, lay this small stone building, a little ways from the old man and the boy.
noticing that his former playthings had departed to find richer companions, the young boy cast about for a new diversion. his eyes rested momentarily on the old man, who sat appraising him, finishing now the remainder of his wine, then shifted immediately to the ancient chapel that sat at the end of the path. he bolted past the old man and, upon reaching the stairs, began to crawl towards the oak door.
"the boy will get himself in trouble, playing around in there," the old man thought as he walked towards the chapel. "hey, lad! get back here! away from that staircase." the boy turned and giggled at the old man. the door was left ajar on the right, and so the child braced himself against the left block of wood and pushed with all his infant might until he could slip behind the closing oak behemoth.
when the man neared the top of the stairs, he could already hear squeals of delight and the tramping of tiny boots against the marble flooring. he opened the door and entered the chapel, clutching his empty wine bottle.
the chapel, dimly lit by the gray light that filtered through the stained glass, was humbly small from the inside. the thick walls seemed designed more to ward off attack than to shepherd God's flock into His house. the man's old eyes had difficulty adjusting to the darkness. he could hear the boy scampering about, among the pews. presently, the scampering stopped.
the man, old and unaccustomed to the adventures of the very young, attempted to brace himself against the wall beside him with his free hand. he slipped against the fount of holy water, and he fell. his free hand felt the cold blessing of the still water that lay in the pool, and as his rump hit the floor. the empty wine bottle clanked against the tile as he scattered holy fluid all around him. he heard quiet giggles from the young boy, now clear to the opposite end of the chapel.
upon rousting himself, the old man cast about. his eyes now adjusted to the depth of darkness of the chapel. his eyes rested on the carpeted altar at the front of the church. standing there, under the crucifix, was the little boy, standing on a chair he had no doubt placed there, reaching up to open the tabernacle.
"oh, god. oh shit." the old man limped among the pews, which, rearranged for cleaning, presented a difficult maze to negotiate. the old man periodically bumped the old wine bottle against the pews' bookends as he weaved his way towards the altar. by the time he did arrive, the boy was leaping from the chair, holding a stack of hosts and a small glass canteen of wine. the boy darted off the altar just as the old man arrived, shooting past him and scampering among, under, and over the pews as an ant does when sticks are placed in its path. soon, he had squeezed back out of the chapel door.
a godless man his entire life, the old man was now suffering from a combined irritation at the young boy's disrespect and the small unease, fueled by sudden self-doubt, felt by an atheist in the house of God. he desired, more than anything, to be immediately back outside, wiping his unintentionally holy hand off, and nursing his sore hip on his green bench, perhaps borrowing a few cents to get himself another bottle of wine. he trudged unevenly among the pews back out the front door.
upon leaving the chapel, the man, blinded by the gray light that assaulted his eyes unfiltered, ghasped. he dropped his empty bottle of wine, shattering it against the chapel steps. his old eyes could make out the figure of the little boy about fifty feet off, dancing and shouting to himself, breaking the hosts and scattering them about him as pigeons flocked to him by droves never seen by the old man in all his years of befriending the filthy, gray birds. the boy broke off bit after bit of the dry, unleavened bread, and with each fragment scattered to the breeze another five or so pigeons appeared to materialize from the trees overhead, swooping down to peck at the dusty feast.
by the time the old man had reached the bottom of the steps, hundreds of birds had gathered around the little boy. "boy, stop this very minute! we will both be in trouble if you don't quit!" the man took the unreasoning tone of one who talks to a child who cannot yet talk, let alone reason, but still argues with or ignores every command and admonishment. the pigeons continued to flock.
as the man arrived at the boy, trying his best not to hurt the pidgeons as they continued to flood around him, sometimes lighting immediately underfoot as he stepped, the mother rounded the corner in the path, strolling with the young caretaker she had befriended. the mother's new friend wore a cap over her straight blonde hair and held at her side a girl of about the little boy's age, who was also dressed in red.
upon seeing the boy scattering the bread to an increasing wind and a multiplying throng of pigeons, the mother's blue eyes widened, and she held a hand out to stop the procession of her young friend, meanwhile darting towards the old man, who had finally joined the boy at the center of the crowd of birds.
"what do you mean by all of this? giving the boy the sacred bread to scatter it to the birds? have you lost your mind?" she noticed the wine bottle. "you old drunk! stay away from my son!" her words peppered the old man, who stood dumbfounded as breadcrumbs sailed about the both of them, resting on their clothes, on the ground and in the mouths of the pigeons who continued to flock.
remembering her child, she turned to him. "oh, my boy!" she picked him up bodily, then tried to carry him over the birds. the boy, however, continued to throw crumbs, and the birds followed them, leaving the old man as she processed back towards her youthful friend.
the young girl, who to this point had merely watched the sea of fowl in dumbfounded amazement, now realizing that this untold mass of playthings was massing toward her, relinquished the hand of her caretaker and bolted, headlong, straight for the mother and her child, uttering a cry only heard from two-year-old girls and larger birds of prey. she was soon on the periphary of the thousands of ensuing pigeons.
the birds' wings produced an enormous thunder as, in a great wave, they took flight from the giant red creature that attacked them mirthfully at full speed. the mother clutched the child to her, and covered her eyes as her vision was engulfed by a closet of gray birds and her ears were clogged by the alarmed coos of her son's flock. the little girl continued to run about, screaming, as the birds took flight. their numbers momentarily blocked the gray light from reaching the path through the trees, and soon they had all departed.
as soon as she could stop laughing, the red-capped babysitter recaptured her little miscreant, gleefully--and only partially--admonishing her charge as she removed her around the corner of the path. the old man was now sitting flat on the ground, spewing forth a rusty chuckle and pausing occasionally to wipe some bread crumbs from the front of his jacket.
the mother of the little boy, aware that the pigeons had fled, slowly relaxed her sheltering hold on the boy, and presently set him down on the ground. then, she noticed the small glass container the boy had tucked into the large pocket of his jacket, and began the agonizing attempts at wrestling the plaything from her child. as the squeals mounted, the old man, regaining a sense of responsibility for the entire scene, roused himself and ambled over to the pair. as he arrived, the mother finally wrested the bottle from her son, and so returned her attention to him.
"you old drunk! have you no reverence?" she pointed the canteen at the old man, accusingly.
"i'm terribly sorry, madam. the child simply escaped me. someone must have left the chapel doors open." the old man eyed the canteen, thirstily.
the woman began to gesture wildly with the canteen. "you reprobate! you allowed my child to enter a dark, forsaken chapel alone, then encouraged him to rob the Body and the Blood from the altar!" the glass caught occasional rays of gray light and bounced them about on the ground. "my child! my poor child!" she repeated this, hysterical now, several times. upon her final gesture, her hand lost its grasp of the container and the vessel sailed straight up through the air, rotating slowly. it thumped against an overhanging treebranch, scattering several birds, then began its haphazard descent towards the ground.
with a presence of mind he had not known for years, which was no doubt fueled by the self-preservation instincts awakened in one confronted by the wrath of a protective mother, the man reached into the air, and caught, in his now very cold hand, the glass container of the Blood. a dumb smile of partial redemption crossed his face and he turned his rheumy eyes to meet the blue ones of the mother.
"well," said the woman, now recomposed, if slightly flustered by her own fervor, "since now you have the wine, here is the bread. i trust you'll remedy this situation." she grabbed the bread from her boy, and, indicating the chapel that lay immediately beyond the old man's green bench, handed it to the old man. "you're lucky i don't call the police on you: a drunken menace to our young ones."
"thank you, madam," the old man replied. "you rest assured: i will not be playing with your child anymore."
"i should say so. he and i won't be returning here. of that i'm certain."
with that, the mother turned back toward the bend in the path, carrying her boy with her, stroking his hair. "don't worry, that man won't bother you any longer."
alone again on the path, the old man turned, nursing his hip and carrying the new glass container, along with the bread, over to his green bench. he gazed down the path, and, as the woman rounded the bend with her little boy, he cast about to see if anyone was looking, chuckled to himself, and opened the canteen. looking furtively about again, he took a sip and broke off some crumbs from the hosts. several birds descended from the trees and wires. the man took another sip, and broke off some more bread.
as he sat there, some minutes later, rubbing his hip and taking occasional sips from his bottle, the red-coated young girl rounded the corner, and, seeing a mass of birds gathered around the old man, squealed, lowered her head, and began to charge.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
refresh me with your round-ass apples, baby
the one who is too smart
the one who is too kind
the one who has too much fire
scorching her behind.
the one who laughs too loud
the one that fucks to hard
the one that wears no underwear
and lifts her skirt out in the yard.
the one who lets me steal
the one who bathes too much
the one whose rotten teeth
my tongue adores to touch.
i sent a fax to one, today.
pressed my face against the glass.
her response was short and to the point;
a photocopy of her ass.
the one who is too smart
the one who is too kind
the one who has too much fire
scorching her behind.
the one who laughs too loud
the one that fucks to hard
the one that wears no underwear
and lifts her skirt out in the yard.
the one who lets me steal
the one who bathes too much
the one whose rotten teeth
my tongue adores to touch.
i sent a fax to one, today.
pressed my face against the glass.
her response was short and to the point;
a photocopy of her ass.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
like the roaring sea
another skeleton,
my friend,
a shard, dulled and wild,
a grain of sand
trapped in a rolling
droplet on the leaf.
each word
the sound of a shovelhead in sand.
each word
a shovel smashed against my head.
another skeleton,
my friend,
a shard, dulled and wild,
a grain of sand
trapped in a rolling
droplet on the leaf.
each word
the sound of a shovelhead in sand.
each word
a shovel smashed against my head.
