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    Friday, January 13, 2006

    Wooden Boys with Bendable Legs

    Little Wooden Boy or Pinocchio or Poor Little One in a non-history city



    Like when you have too much animal blood lying around
    Or under a door frame, inside a tight fitting onclave
    Seeping into cracks, little wooden boy legs

    Bursting like flowers from so much happiness
    But the Two Others were not flowering but dying
    Weed tendrils focused on suffocation
    Poor Little One had stolen the nutrients,
    the bursting belonged to him because he said it was so.

    This is the only thing he is sure of

    There is no History City, there are no malnourished dogs
    Little One is a liar.
    Tumorous butterflies fly but they fly with swollen middles
    Zig zag like

    Two steps further is 200 million miles
    wooden legs stained in blood can not make it
    more than 1.9999 million steps before they splinter
    into pieces and Others use them to play fetch

    delusional, grandiose tantrums will ensue
    flaying of legs and necks are close to
    real limb-ful moments
    but limb-ful is not wholesome
    when the sky is dipping into the ocean
    and the island that you have been floating on
    bobbing like a cork
    is really a giant fish belly
    swollen and white like a knee bone

    after reading Kim Rosenfield, Trama

    2 Comments:

    Blogger Geraldine said...

    Wow. That was awesome, Kris.

    10:16 AM  
    Anonymous Anonymous said...

    the bendy boy looks around, but he's not sure what you'd have him do.
    he settles into a groove. "work all day, work all night"
    imagine modulating the sound of your voice if you could never hear it. you'd probably be loud at first, but eventually you'd speak very quietly

    2:12 PM  

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