Thursday, December 23, 2010
Thousand: Two Hundred Thirty-Three
they glide apart with the grace of elephants and the sun stretch its long warm legs upon the tiles like a proud spider? What do you think? Tell us. I think he took too many theoceuticals. Entheogens? God is a chemical. Who? The mayor takes Samuel’s hand and leads him out of the bathroom, both stepping carefully over the draped corpse. I’m sorry, he says. The noise in there could wake Brahma. At the window, a very nice window, you can easily forget it and drift over the city, the mayor, call me Ed, kisses Samuel’s palm, no, he’s biting
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2 comments:
It's strange to read this in the context of Christmas in the blogworld and elsewhere. I thought to put up a non-Christmas post and thought the better of it till the event is over. In the meantime, merry Christmas Glenn.
Thanks, Elisabeth. Merry Christmas to you!
I thought when I started "Thousand" that I would, at least occasionally, blog about the things I used to blog about - describing a walk in the woods, putting up a cat picture. But it hasn't worked out that way.
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