somebody changed the locks on that vast, black mansion of shame that I’d haughtily squatted in; still, the picture window’s open, still, wan eaves bent under a hangnail
immortal Beau once body-
checked me, clearing a
corner of what, for a time, be-
longed to the hobbled community
college that dean got in trouble for
stealing from years ago—maybe,
I can’t find the clipping’s remains—but
Beau was bent then braying as much as a punch-
pink Snagglepuss crassly assesses his exits, Hey,
you gave me twelve pages of tone! He’d
mimeographed but one gnawed note of the
twelve, and handed them out to our class of
creative writing enthusiasts, as it’d seemed
a creative writing class in name
alone, perchance. He pressed them,
one by one, what’s the story here, junior
woodchuck Inquisitor tickling tur-
pentine, turpitude, nausea, awe, some
glum little lesson in how we just couldn’t write
purely in color and tone and the rain-swoln
runestones rolled and everything music
was honed from. He asked me to meet him
for five little, finger-frail minutes (recall,
how the pressure it takes to break a fin-
ger’s still the same dull tug that a car-
rot stick’s split with) to maybe convey
some polished pearls, some scrier’s
silvered sphere his tongue-
tied teachers, maybe, had
sassed and rasped
to a pizzle of beano
or some smashed scrap of
alkaseltzer, midol, tylenol, any-
thing other than what dashed dross his
dreams once seemed to smugly coin-toss.
Berryman, maybe, he muttered. You’re different but
have you read, now, what was the number of
dream songs—I sure hadn’t, however,
he then suggested, Snagglepuss
crassly assessing his exits, Maybe
you’re like Maria Callas: lose the weight and
lose the voice. It seemed like he didn’t much care
for opera, albeit charmed he was
by his sporting comparison. Doors
drawn, knobs forgotten, and
hinges arraigned on the
charge of rust, I scuttled
away, for years still
straying. But know that Beau
becomes immortal, regardless,
every time my mind might kick
at a rickety, hiccupping
board un-
bound
from
what black,
tacky, and crackling
maelstrom shame’s still shouldering,
acned Atlas, slack as a lock-
jawed dog drawn raw from
watching a wobbling pocket-
watch prance and dance and en-
trench like a tick stuck, chipping
the uncarved block or but tuscan
marble strictly to cat-scratched
staffs struck straight as a scowl
or the yowling scars and bedsores
proudly penned in the pain of a
pitiless wisdom, hitherto, unfor-
given, forgettable, echoing,
beckoning, bitten
off far too
far to ar-
gue with—
2 thoughts on "somebody changed the locks on that vast, black mansion of shame that I’d haughtily squatted in; still, the picture window’s open, still, wan eaves bent under a hangnail"
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This made me laugh! I love this! I also can relate. It drew me in well, throughout. It’s almost a statement on your work, or is it? Did they really teach a whole class about how not to write using your work? (Shakes head in disbelief)
People are often threatened when something defies an easy definition. The last sentence is remarkable. I’ll have to read it a few more times. Thanks for sharing this.
Thank you! It’s more or less a pretty accurate account, with quotes and all. The degree to which he was using it as an example of bad writing, I’m unsure—it bothered him, but it seemed he thought there was something there still. On a counter note, he said to me in front of the class once, “You could be the next James Joyce—or not. Who knows? I guess only time will tell.” High praise. I think he liked my voice and style, but couldn’t contextualize, and so he was trying to wrestle it into something he understood, like teachers of yore would’ve dealt with somebody being left-handed.