god of the beginning
In the beginning there were 11 pink shoes tapping out names of twelve gods the god of land the god of refrigerators the god of good lies the god of what's inside a wave the god of where to from here the god of the voice that comes from somewhere the god of tap tap the god of how can we get the tap out of tap in the beginning there were ways to think of things that haven't even been possible in the beginning there were thoughts of everything except the things that we didn't want in the beginning cats squawked under the carpet and rats married the moon in the beginning I came away with my pair (of scissors, that is) Why are you looking at me private? Why do you tell me about buildings? How big will they grow? What's a cave? Is it always the mountains? Will people write stories that end in blood baths in bright sunlight or is it overcast days that bad things happen? Why is jazz written tonight? What came first the white or the white? How many goats does it take to make a lightbulb go? Can you hear the tippy tappy of the shoes heard only by the god of feet? Can you hear the little piece of shadow caught in the shoulder suit of the mute man who is closing off into the microphone? There are things on the telly that involve feet walking there are things on the telly that see hands slipping things into hands that should not really be called hands because that day only the god of feet was not asleep
|© Copyright 2008 Johanna Aitchison & Trout.
|This issue of Trout is sponsored in part by UNESCO.