The cave opened.
Unclenched stone muscle;
efflorescence of the arthritic rose. The slither of sun
cut the mountain skin
and darkness trickled out / puss-puddly-ooze.
Simon munched on air, thoughtfully.
munching on air, Simon opened
his writer and typed ‘Ooze
me a word, muscle
me a skin –
I must hide from the sun’
Clickety-clack, a basso clicks the new typewriter
( chicken bones and tin foil). A sun-
striped donkey, a zebra in fact, thoughtfully
investigated this strange noise - the skin
of his silence has been opened
by the typewriter flexing its muscle.
The darkness continued to ooze.
The darkness continued to ooze
from the cave; rivers emptied by the sun.
Meantime Simon pulled his bicep muscle
throwing stones at the zebra, who realised that ‘thoughtfully’
as a career choice had been a mistake. The zebra opened
his legs and farted in derision. ‘Keep your skin!’
and high-kneed off in the direction of the mountain’s kin:
(New York was a horizon of skyscrapers fed by sewage ooze.
- the most drinkable water in the U.S (the adverts promised))
The cave opened.
Where the dark had been, shadows echoed the sun.
Simon Zebra (his adopted name defeating the sun-striped donkey)
echoed the echoes thoughtfully
and the new age type writer continued to flex his muscle.
So far the typewriter and not Simon have been the muscle
of this story. In rectification Simon opens his mouth, the fifth hole in his skin,
and forms a question slowly, thoughtfully:
‘Where are the other four holes of the mountain, where, from ooze
to torrents, darkness floods the world, for only half of Time lies in the sun?’
He wrote it down so as not to forget. Unlike a cave, the mouth cannot remain opened.
The muscles of his finger tips tightened as he opened
his beer. Thoughtfully he sipped the frothy ooze
and retreated into the cave. His head-skin was red from the sun.