Demiurgic living space, cows are rooms who roam. Sometimes found in the closet, sometimes found in the den, once in the kitchen, twice in the bed. Sacred objects imperturbable, wonderful as houseboats. One never knows when one will open a room only to stumble into a cow.
Humanity’s oldest machine. Cows were invented from a simple maladjustment of an idea pre-existing in nature, like the screw (sperm’s tail), the spork (hands), the knife (laughter), the cow (breasts). From fat, milk-juicy wanders now efficient breasts powered by green grass cud and able to transform from mother’s milk into father’s steak. Turn down the hallway step into its belly, wait for the bull to mount. Father’s steak or mother’s milk, the perfect parent, greatest milk-steak.
The Earth Mooselisten to this story
Old long tall stood whompyjawed mommicked in the degraded mud road. Disease gathers its carries. The coughing cough united. The pale fade into dark rooms. Spoked wheelchairs circle one another. Moose love the smell of piss. The earth moose is the biggest lover there is. His bray echoes professionally. Accountants gather the courage to make a tick: one Earth Moose. On checking, the accountants say there has never been another. The bray is an old moose saying. The other moose ignore the Earth Moose whose enigmatic charm endears EM to urbane man and rural man. The Earth Moose stands alone and brays–an old moose saying. The sick stay away except in their thoughts, in their sweat, their stained fibers they gather the saying of the Earth Moose who stands alone, shunned from moose society. Under the microscope their cells are burnt, are braying loud as the burning forest of California. Old long tall still stands dumb like a dirty rolled up carpet, the one we walked on, we healthy ones devoid of braying. Where giants come from angels are too small, traffic lights are too small, readable sizes are illegal.