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needles needling needlessly with little thread... or much of anything else...

(foolish dribbles to be written at uncertain times, on an irregular basis, from uncertain sections of the ever expending universe, and from whatever dimension I-We-Us-Them might find ourselves/ myself in …)

Friday, May 13, 2005

THE ELEPHANT GATHERING 


There was a man at his grey desk who cried
and who had a drink
his third or his tenth he knew not
anymore
nor cared.

He listened to his stories bumbling about in his head
and cried at climaxes
randomly bumping one against the other
like dumb elephants
un-accommodated to this tight space they were born into
and grew into
taking so much room about the place they themselves
disappeared behind their own grotesqueness
never having been released
and freed to live their epics and lives outside
in the open air.
Posted by: François Pointeau / 22:38
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