from THE INVENTION OF MONSTERS / A PERFORMANCE IN ONE ACT
[scene]
Even as we arrive the stage is set. Already the costumes are worn. It is a story about boys and girls or else it isn’t. Everything must be seen. (Carnivorous I. I of the graven image. The bear in mosquito’s clothing, etc.) I dance with this man or that one. A game of pajamas. Glitter, rhinestone, glitter, sequins. Horses vanish in the West. The ocean walks into the man, and he becomes she. Welcome to the rest of my life. A goat in the machine, an imposture in the parlor. Earth keeps its distance.
[scene]
The soldier surrenders, the plumber plunges. A great western cataract. Burn your ideas. When I was a boy God was always taller, but never real. The suicides painting beautiful pictures. (An elephant factory gone awry.) I start over with anything. I grow into my own face. Warships lost in the center of a blank page. Trash floating toward no conclusion. I dream in unmarked bats. Cars in the soul, etc. Keep the change, etc.
[scene]
I find everything dying. The dead find everything hilarious. Little by little I am taught to keep the doors shut, tall buildings following me into sleep. A blizzard moreover. The times are such that we are no longer interested in the work of a clown. And anyway what do the dead know? And when will the blossoms die? People are very small houses. The godless become God. The arrow snatches the hat from my head. Two monks meditate on the tip of my dick. I don’t even have a dick. The corpse is laughing.
[scene]
The audience is frequent, the audience is proud. A clown comes out of me and my fears are confirmed. Aroused, I glisten. I offer nothing of my own. I strip down to water and I am what I was. Meanwhile, the screams correspond, they mingle. The cow teeters on the point of a fork. Another tower is erected. You’re more likely to be killed by your own father, says the father. Take these clothes and build a world. God is a man with balls. Sperm dying the trash, birds shitting on a gravestone. My master plan.
[scene]
And no birds sing. Close at hand is another hand. An elevator falling out of the day. The queen is in her bed, doing something beds are good for. A world seen whole. I am all of me used parts, I fry my own steak. (I eat my eggs.) A man with his pants down. Old fashion fork and wrench. A doll passed from boy to boy at a campsite. The sound of wolves eating. By a single blade I am disrobed. Beneath my robe a sexier robe.