Finding the Most Appropriate Word or Phrase
either for accuracy or comparison. is not
something that comes easily for me. no, sir!
if i were thirsty and i managed a ‘go pump
me a spirit,’ would you come back with a
glass of water? avec gaz? i know i would.
or might. if a woodchuck could chuck wood.
the grouse that was woodsy has a hoody from
poughkeepsie, but the chirpy mouse has no idea
how to spell it, much less pronounce it. “just say
it, then.” he heard everyone say on his birthday.
he was prophetic like that. it wasn’t his fault, or
it could have been, but it was certainly not a thing
that he had asked for. “watch the door,” said the
bird in the morgue next to the fjord. once he knew
the glacier within which he’d finally find his glasses,
with his head askance he knew in a glance that with or
without such elaborate hall passes, his ass was grass
(and much the same size of at least half of texas).
he coughed as he laughed and he laughed as he
coughed while spending the evening in search of
the grouse, who it’s true, was his spouse. but hush
about that. such things cannot be undone (like the
fact that whenever he’d look back at this moment
the word that he found that he always was mouthing
in some sort of odd kind of motor memory would
now and always at such misbegotten times as these
be grouch. “i heard that,” said marvin arranging the
bed. “did he just say irving berlin had a thing for...”
and then all he’d hear from then on out was missus
gazpacho. and so for the rest of the day, almost as though
punishment for having such a lousy memory, he’d put
the kibosh and quite lickety-split on his finding more words
that were rhyming (and shit). he calmed himself down
and looked under the newlywed’s bed for whatever it
was that was lost and as of yet unremembered. he
had no idea that it was something so unremarkable
that it’d never be remembered. it just never worked
like that. or had never before. but perhaps this was one
of those days that were spoken of as if omni-presently
just on the next bright horizon. the sky was not bright
but instead a dark purple. oh, well, he though dourly,
that’s just the way the cookie always must crumble.
he racked his mind, could it have been barwin,
perhaps? or charmin? or it could have been darwin?
but really he had no idea. and so right at the top
of the brain did thought from there on after keep
popping back up, it was so unattractive. but this
would not dawn on him until way later. for now
he knew only just that his gummy head couldn’t
possibly think, and for some considerable time
from the way things were feeling. there once was
a man from my parlor. all the phrases and words he
could think of that rhymed with parlor were: caller.
katie bar the door. palaver. and bar harbor. a place
that as he recalled (or was it if he recalled) was filled
filled with seamen on docks. “oh, it’s you my dear friend,
good grief, you numbskull, come stand on your tiptoes.”
and that’s when it suddenly came to him that it was
always and actually the doctor havarfor. so up he got
and and in two shakes he was out, and i’m more than
just certain that you will believe me when i add just
this one simple fact to this longwinded story: that
he’s never not once since then ever dropped by, i
mean zilcho from all the way back then to now.
either for accuracy or comparison. is not
something that comes easily for me. no, sir!
if i were thirsty and i managed a ‘go pump
me a spirit,’ would you come back with a
glass of water? avec gaz? i know i would.
or might. if a woodchuck could chuck wood.
the grouse that was woodsy has a hoody from
poughkeepsie, but the chirpy mouse has no idea
how to spell it, much less pronounce it. “just say
it, then.” he heard everyone say on his birthday.
he was prophetic like that. it wasn’t his fault, or
it could have been, but it was certainly not a thing
that he had asked for. “watch the door,” said the
bird in the morgue next to the fjord. once he knew
the glacier within which he’d finally find his glasses,
with his head askance he knew in a glance that with or
without such elaborate hall passes, his ass was grass
(and much the same size of at least half of texas).
he coughed as he laughed and he laughed as he
coughed while spending the evening in search of
the grouse, who it’s true, was his spouse. but hush
about that. such things cannot be undone (like the
fact that whenever he’d look back at this moment
the word that he found that he always was mouthing
in some sort of odd kind of motor memory would
now and always at such misbegotten times as these
be grouch. “i heard that,” said marvin arranging the
bed. “did he just say irving berlin had a thing for...”
and then all he’d hear from then on out was missus
gazpacho. and so for the rest of the day, almost as though
punishment for having such a lousy memory, he’d put
the kibosh and quite lickety-split on his finding more words
that were rhyming (and shit). he calmed himself down
and looked under the newlywed’s bed for whatever it
was that was lost and as of yet unremembered. he
had no idea that it was something so unremarkable
that it’d never be remembered. it just never worked
like that. or had never before. but perhaps this was one
of those days that were spoken of as if omni-presently
just on the next bright horizon. the sky was not bright
but instead a dark purple. oh, well, he though dourly,
that’s just the way the cookie always must crumble.
he racked his mind, could it have been barwin,
perhaps? or charmin? or it could have been darwin?
but really he had no idea. and so right at the top
of the brain did thought from there on after keep
popping back up, it was so unattractive. but this
would not dawn on him until way later. for now
he knew only just that his gummy head couldn’t
possibly think, and for some considerable time
from the way things were feeling. there once was
a man from my parlor. all the phrases and words he
could think of that rhymed with parlor were: caller.
katie bar the door. palaver. and bar harbor. a place
that as he recalled (or was it if he recalled) was filled
filled with seamen on docks. “oh, it’s you my dear friend,
good grief, you numbskull, come stand on your tiptoes.”
and that’s when it suddenly came to him that it was
always and actually the doctor havarfor. so up he got
and and in two shakes he was out, and i’m more than
just certain that you will believe me when i add just
this one simple fact to this longwinded story: that
he’s never not once since then ever dropped by, i
mean zilcho from all the way back then to now.
