For Every Tib and Tom Cat

dimarts

24. soothing the cruelties










Cruets at the ready









Near the river

The quotidian fights and the ghastly torture

Pimps dogs servants whores

Harsh beatings swift murders...



How easy to turn one’s head toward the geometric gardens nearby

And peripatetically expound upon the landscape

With a friend who also wants to avoid trouble.



And how comforting to apply the cruets of Dalí

A few drops of olive oil over the wounds of pain

A few more drops of the wine vinegar of the sarcasm of his wit

To comment also on the uncouth happenings of the evening.



The heroism of the haggler

Who educes from the gaudy figment hell-bent on slaughter

A meager reduction of the fee

The whore made of sawdust who coaxes the devil

Into yielding some of his flame

So that she might explode with glee

The enchanter who to his tongue’s hilt emits

Those siren’s sounds of wasted velocity

The knots on the necks of the sorrowful lackeys and attendees

Who can’t rightly discern among the umbrages and the felonies

The indelible impact of the fact that we are not there

Not we.



Gotta be outside

Can’t be in

Could be in

Only if unseen
.”



Them the dapper and the known

They have the run of the place

We the unsightly and the wise

Are banned from the light
.”



And now?

The night steadfastly impelled by the shrieks of the dying

Bestows its dark blessing

The river ekes out a reasonable current

Propelled by its recent affluents

The new bloods that the gutter brings.



The dumb chorus observes the utter darkness

And mumbles damp sentences among the boles of the trees

Vertices of the labyrinthine garden

Where dawn is bound to drip

Drop by drop

As from the cruets into the crudities.





Never so well

Never so well
nyac!

Inosculated

Inosculated
anyocs de nyacs!

who the 'ell?

La meva foto
C.R. Morell his paltry efforts,

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