the tattered display (the one
with the frayed posters)
and began in earnest.
Words flooded from him in
Mississippian volume, lapping up
the sandbags that guarded his
bemused audience.
He then flung buckets
of explosively colored paint
in all directions, like a canine
dadaist shaking off
the wet remains
of the Louvre.
The Pollockized watchers blinked
in unanimous bafflement.
He paced and ranted, reciting
every line he could remember,
punctuating his thespian odds and ends
with St. Vitus dances of abandonment.
He sent up acrid smoke signals;
he bashed log drums with mad delight;
he fired multiple flares
into the puzzled sky,
ululating all the while,
and for the big finish, he stylishly
severed a non-essential toe.
Drenched and gasping, lying in
spent prostration, he said,
"well?"
A voice replied,
"could we see that again?"
No comments:
Post a Comment