Friday, June 7, 2013

Claude Has Notions



Claude hemmed and hawed, until finally
he spit out his pins and cleared his throat
and spoke- that is, his teeth
turned into spokes, and the spinning wheel
of his voice got clogged with yarn.
The tapestry of his life had long-since unraveled,
leaving nothing but a few moth-munched scraps
tacked to the walls, so now he produced
a wood-clamped canvas circle
and tried to cross-stitch a new narrative.
But the string snagged and became a snare,
tightening around Claude’s throat, strangling him.
Claude’s button eyes strained at their stitches
and he swallowed, trying to loosen the noose,
but the more he struggled the tighter it pulled,
biting into Claude’s neck until it cut clean through
like a wire slicing a slab of clay.
Oh darn, he thought, as, cleared of its body,
Claude’s noggin bounced and rolled down
the patchwork slope, leaving a fluffy trail
of white cotton batting behind.

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