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Teeming With Bright Tales
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Teeming With Bright Tales

Poem By Charles Chaim Wax

Frank Happ crossed the street.
“I been in Canada, ” he immediately said.
“Oh.”
“Montreal.
My girlfriend’s mother is sick. I loaded
everything into the van,
and drove up in eleven hours.
When I got there it was
forty below. The river froze.
We went ice-skating.”
I had no actual idea
what Happ did for living. At various times
he had installed satellite dishes,
been in high steel construction,
and done photography with a 147mm lens
attached to a Hasselblad camera
but when I checked a catalogue
I discovered
no such lens ever existed.
Happ continued, “My fiancee’s a writer
wrote four books
working on one now
done volumes
one after the other
so they offered her a job, $900 a week
but I could get her a job as a model
for $1,000 a week. Then we had
a meal for $120,
in a very fancy French restaurant
after we went skiing
bobsledding.”
“You did a lot that day.”
“Went mountain climbing also.”
I said, “Aren’t you scared? ...falling?
there’s nothing underneath you.”
“I died already
so did my girlfriend. She was climbing
a steep wall of rock
when this gust of wind
whipped her against the cliff face—
banged the hell out of her. She died
then saw herself being
slammed against the rock
over and over
but she loved me so much
she got back to her
body. That’s called being born again.”
“And you experienced that? What’s it like? ”
“When it comes you’ll find out.”
“Some say
nothing but peace
and glistening stars
and a comforting breeze,
like from the tropics,
cradling you when
the last breath is forever dispersed
amid the winds of eternity
so, what’s death like? ”
“I’m also a Tai-chi master, ”
Frank Happ informed me,
then joyfully demonstrated
the intricate exercises of that
ancient discipline.

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Comments (1)

Ahh, i'm loving the quirky origniality of this.


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