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Satura tota nostra est.

Satura tota nostra est.
Satire is all ours.

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Sunday, December 27, 2009

I Henry, unmedicated.

Detail from Government. Mural by Elihu Vedder....Image via Wikipedia

March 28, 1986
Dear Piece of Paper,
I can see the movement of my mother’s mouth. I can hear her words. I understand them perfectly. But she is not here or there. She wrings her hands, says “Stop grimacing!” I know nothing of grimacing. The conductor waves his wand and the penetration of wavy grasses and orphan-like trees embrace the color red. The penetration is a tattoo. My mother has no tattoos, but she knows Jesus and is quite fond of Him. The sand causes the house to slide. No one knows, but the stick-people, and the barn wears the wind like a cross, He said “You can go now,” and so I retired to my room, alone, waiting for the right temperature.
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