Friday, June 6, 2014

Exquisite Meadowgrass Corpse

Written by nine people between the ages of 11 and 55, in blue and black ink on one side of a ripped out page of a composition book, while sitting in lawn chairs under the yellow and white striped tent, being entertained by the Chimney Choir, which wasn't a choir at all.

Transcribed here by me in nine different colors.  Remember, in an Exquisite Corpse, the writer can only see, and therefore respond to, the line right before his/hers, as the paper is repeatedly folded over as it passes from person to person.

NB:  All spelling, line breaks, punctuation, and capitalization have been retained from the original.

"Am I really going to desicrate
this grave forever? Of course
I am."

I smiled as I lifted the shovel and
lowered it sharply on the grave

The body of the innocent fell
sharply into the freshly dug grave

Innocence was murdered.  Without a care.

In one shake of a storm

A lonely crow burst through the clouds

Exploding into feathers and
dust, black as the darkest night

that flew into the air

Like a bird dropping on a
windshield.

2 comments:

Mark Hanson said...

I carefully lifted a motionless and head-injured squirrel from a city road. I placed the beautiful and soft creature in the basket of my bicycle, and made the poignant journey to my residence of that time. I sculpted a rectangular resting place in the soil, and laid the nutty mammal to rest near a block of mesquite coal. After replacing the negative space above the squirrel I covered the grave with fiber board and watered the place with aluminum water. Days later there was an escape tunnel. Did the squirrel awaken, spin his limbs and keratin claws in a frenzy, and find the light? I met eyes with a squirrel some time later. I'm not sure if it was the same squirrel. He nodded his head, pantomimed a hand washing ritual, and said, "Thank you." telepathically.

Mark Hanson said...

I carefully lifted a motionless and head-injured squirrel from a city road. I placed the beautiful and soft creature in the basket of my bicycle, and made the poignant journey to my residence of that time. I sculpted a rectangular resting place in the soil, and laid the nutty mammal to rest near a block of mesquite coal. After replacing the negative space above the squirrel I covered the grave with fiber board and watered the place with aluminum water. Days later there was an escape tunnel. Did the squirrel awaken, spin his limbs and keratin claws in a frenzy, and find the light? I met eyes with a squirrel some time later. I'm not sure if it was the same squirrel. He nodded his head, pantomimed a hand washing ritual, and said, "Thank you." telepathically.