Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Do you like this story?
Kelvin, thank you for sending this Kijiji Winnipeg ad from the Missed Connections section. It's hauntingly bizarre, but beautiful.
You wore a battered tuxedo vest of dusky pink, hanging loosely off your shoulders atop a shredded grey Exco jersey. Shavings of parsnips stapled to the soiled grey mesh to bring out the burgundy of the tasseled stole draped accross your right collarbone.
Marcos 6 Dvoggpthaim
You read aloud from a book of Urdu poetry as red & yellow hairpins chattered in your hanging curls.
Deep red prisms, the gables of a bucking Obadiah floss. Your hair brushing against the Box of Frogs sleeve taped to your back. Stones blacker than night. You performed a stationary backstroke in the snow, binoculars in a drawer somewhere. Your bark piles grew...
Atop your black flapper hat sat an ornate tangle of audio-visual cables, cauliflower, and spray cheese, flashing it's fierce synthetic orange in the winter sun. Silt-encrusted. Red and yellow Micronesia bog, the Tony Amonte jersey tied around your waist, sand banks of your grapy bulkheads curled across the xantham gradient of flesh... snowpants your only concession to the cold. Pictures of Sinbad stapled to those pants ( aka Curtiss King ).
Sorting bark into bowls. A light dusting of turmeric adorning your thick pleather shoulder pad. All this time, stealing glances as I wandered through the endzone with my disposable cameras.
I came nearer and you threw a dictionary at me. I hoped to speak. It lay open at my feet, to yield forth it's words of incomprehensible Slovene.
Bowls of bark
You told me I was unethical. You told me you were Roland Barthes' mother. You threw and ashtray in the sky, You warned me of a nearby Shriner....
* * *
Please, teach me to swim