A BLASÉ GENIUS PLAYING SCRABBLE WITH A DYSLEXIC COSMOS

WHITE CLOAK

Ever the gentleman he
held open the café door
for a winsome fossil to exit
only to discover that in her wake
followed a wrinkle of geriatrics
each mumbling regret for past doings

Seemingly an eon later he would observe
the throng shuffling hither and thither
headless tortoises one and all
in an attempt to disperse
making sure to avoid puddles
small children and fallen leaves

She saw him first
his comportment magnetic
tapped him on the shoulder
outside, in the wind swept street

“How kind of you Sir”

“Pardon?”

“Courtesy is in short supply these days and you patiently waited until they all left in their own time…didn’t hurry them along”

“Oh that”

“Don’t you think they look like a human mosaic?”

“Not particularly”

“Oh I’m an artist by the way…the curse of seeing eyes and all that”

It did not go unnoticed that
she was a walking aphrodisiac
their eventual union inevitable

Some little time later on the kind of
luminous, no light pollution night, the
like of which would see Van Gogh sober
and in the middle of an almost nowhere
he would ask of her, her secrets
that she answered with just a wry smile
a disappointment for he wanted her to admit
that The Intentional Fallacy, her supposed guiding light
was utter bollocks, wanted her to recognize that
contradiction was her one tiresome frailty

Battled-scarred lovers always have a point to prove yet
calculable distractions were quite beyond her perception
and thus far the reprobate time shark had not claimed his exorbitant levy

On the day the world was to come to an end
he found her alone, more fragile than before
unkempt hair and decked out in a ghostly white hooded cloak
sat cross legged within the viridarium of Vatican City
balancing miniature balsa fashioned Wicca pentagrams upon cocktail sticks
“My gift to the heavens…obviously,” her obdurate parting shot
In return a butterfly kiss his gift on behalf of a feasibly beholden Zion,
deserved regardless, for she was in her lover’s eyes
akin to a blasé genius playing Scrabble with a dyslexic cosmos

A codicil to her Last Will and Testament read
“May my footprints in wet sand be left to mankind for posterity”
foolish in the extreme in hindsight
laughable also yet well-meant
she was after all bananas before her time by then
she, his bombastic virtuoso who paid little heed
to the murderous bi daily ‘keep no secrets’ rip tide

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27 thoughts on “A BLASÉ GENIUS PLAYING SCRABBLE WITH A DYSLEXIC COSMOS

  1. as is the case with your book (which I’m now well into and thoroughly enjoying), this piece is utterly brilliant – your sharply drawn facility with language combined with your highly informed imagination yields prose poetry that can only be described as the work of unique genius

    1. Thanks for that…I was by the way the bloke holding the door open for one sweet old lady when about 20 others took it upon themselves to depart at the same time while I stood there with the door held open!

  2. A blase genius playing Scrabble with a dyslexic cosmos…I can only guess who won. Yes, quite apt that she should leave wet footsteps in the sand behind on the day the world was going to end. Quite genius as always.

    1. The true bit was that I did hold the door open for one old lady the other day when another thousand it seemed followed her out all gawping at the floor oblivious to the fact I was holding the bloody door!

      1. Never! They were gals…albeit very old ones, yet gals nonetheless! How could you think such a thing young Marissa…still the thought did cross my mind after the first two dozen I must admit!

      2. Oh, well I don’t think the part about them being old gals was mentioned. You really don’t think I’d be as heartless as all that. Wait a minute, don’t answer that one.

    1. Genius from two writers I respect both in the one day…I shall be getting above myself if I’m not careful! Odd thing is I made Shirl proof read then read again another couple of times because I wasn’t sure it was any good! Hopefully it is OK

  3. Even Van Gogh, that raging alcoholic, would turn head and sacrifice an ear for such a walking aphrodisiac … got me thinking about what codicil my Last Will & Testament would have? I guess the beautiful crazy life can get and leave upon us. Intriguing piece, read it a couple of times over – couldn’t see myself coming out the cafe doors – phew, still time to compose a beaut codicil for posterity 😀

  4. ” in her wake
    followed a wrinkle of geriatrics
    each mumbling regret for past doings” – great lines, and a great piece in the whole too. I love the abstract angles you throw in all the time, they sew everything together perfectly.

    – sonmi nodding upon the Cloud

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