Carceri by PiranesiA box of coins: One my fate, one my face, the others counterfeit. I close my eyes, reach in, choose: wrong, yes, but so it had been written.
*
The man with a headache reached into his mind and extracted a bit of shrapnel, which, examined, was the clone of a passage from Bach.
*
Signing the lien, he felt a twinge in his abdomen, as if someone were writing his own name on his belly with a pen of white phosphorus.
*
No one believed in demons, which made the exorcism a great success: there was dance, drink, and the guest of honor bleeding from the mouth.
*
Entropy broke through the cafe window, tipping a dish of cornichon, blinding the waiter with its radiation, emptying the diners' wallets.
*
Walking the shining hallway to the toilet, the busboy tripped over a marble head with a disgusted face, a patron who refused to leave a tip.
*
The slum in the heart of the flower, alley in the slum, door in the alley: in a grimy room, the homunculus sits, crippled, selling a flower.
*
As he went under anesthesia, the stockbroker dreamed the money he'd embezzled had written itself into a poem, and the poem into an epitaph.
No comments:
Post a Comment