Friday, March 24, 2006

Dust

Today I stayed at home, a day off work. The landlord had builders in to take up the floorboards and rewire the hallway. All the old cables had reached their peak. The downstairs always shorted out; candle wax everywhere. They found a dead cat wrapped in filthy old rags and whoever left it there had painted an eye on its head like a mummy. I’ll bury it, in the garden, later. When I was a kid other builders found a rat, mummified under floorboards. They put it into a little plastic bag and left it outside the backdoor on a marble top. It looked like a dried puffball. You ever see a dried puffball before? Did you ever see a fresh one, eat it with bacon and eggs? Puffball steaks, slices of pure meat like best bird breast. It’s only when they’re completely dried out that they can release their spores.

 The mugger I let pass, chased by a copper
 The businessman I lost reason with on the tube
 The awful silent wish that others might die
 White noise wall of radios
 Melon balls

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