Excerpt XXXVII

VII

Big, dead, yellow, green, purple fishes fell on the floor

when we opened the blinds each morning. The casket

maker was down in the street along with the fool,

the limping man, the blind, the tradesman, the cop in civilian

cloths,

the hidden motorcycle, the school bus, the butcher’s daughter,

the baker, the female flower vendor, the lying fish market

vendor with the frozen fishes, the sunshine on one side of

the sidewalk —

they all tried to convince, some themselves,

a few others to convince others, while themselves didn’t

exist.

Why? Stergios asked, why this story and why the general

story?

There was no answer; I won’t stop asking: why?

Through the chimney, on top of the stairs, under it,

in the prison, from opposite the sundown, with the woman’s

panties held tightly under my arm,

with the half burnt wooden dolls laid on the tailor’s bench,

with the stuffed stork in the barbershop mirror,

with pussy hair carefully kept in a beautiful chocolate box.

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