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Russell Edson Poems
You haven't finished your ape, said mother to father, who had monkey hair and blood on his whiskers. I've had enough monkey, cried father.
A scientist has a test tube full of sheep. He wonders if he should try to shrink a pasture for them. They are like grains of rice.
A man is fighting with a cup of coffee. The rules: he must not break the cup nor spill its coffee; nor must the cup break the man's bones or spill his blood.
A Stone Is Nobody's
A man ambushed a stone. Caught it. Made it a prisoner. Put it in a dark room and stood guard over it for the rest of his life.
On the other side of a mirror there's an inverse world, where the insane go sane; where bones climb out of the earth and recede to the first slime of love.
A Performance At Hog Theater
There was once a hog theater where hogs performed as men, had men been hogs. One hog said, I will be a hog in a field which has
One Lonely Afternoon
Since the fern can't go to the sink for a drink of water, I graciously submit myself to the task, bringing two glasses from the sink. And so we sit, the fern and I, sipping water together.
Ape And Coffee
Some coffee had gotten on a man's ape. The man said, animal did you get on my coffee? No no, whistled the ape, the coffee got on me.
There was a man who found two leaves and came indoors holding them out saying to his parents that he was a tree.
There was a man who didn't know how to sleep; nodding off every night into a drab, unprofessional sleep. Sleep that he'd grown so tired of sleeping. He tried reading The Manual of Sleep, but it just put him
A Historical Breakfast
A man is bringing a cup of coffee to his face, tilting it to his mouth. It's historical, he thinks. He scratches his head: another historical event. He really ought to rest, he's making an awful lot of
On The Eating Of Mice
A woman prepared a mouse for her husband's dinner, roasting it with a blueberry in its mouth. At table he uses a dentist's pick and a surgeon's scalpel,
A Journey Through The Moonlight
In sleep when an old man's body is no longer aware of his boundaries, and lies flattened by gravity like a mere of wax in its bed . . . It drips down to the floor and moves there like a tear down a
The barber has accidentally taken off an ear. It lies like something newborn on the floor in a nest of hair. Oops, says the barber, but it musn't've been a very good ear, it came off with very little complaint.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
You haven't finished your ape, said mother to father,
who had monkey hair and blood on his whiskers.
I've had enough monkey, cried father.
You didn't eat the hands, and I went to all the
trouble to make onion rings for its fingers, said mother.
I'll just nibble on its forehead, and then I've had enough,
I stuffed its nose with garlic, just like you like it, said
Why don't you have the butcher cut these apes up? You lay
the whole thing on the table every night; the same fractured
skull, the same singed ...