“A legion of horribles, hundreds in number, half naked or clad in costumes attic or biblical or wardrobed out of a fevered dream”
Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian
The Upchucked intestines of some strange festival
Are tableaud across a stage of steps
Like an unstarched baroque court they
Pontify and pry
Kissfight and woo
Deal and steal
And emphatically they do
Strut and fret their hour
For this today is their tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow just as it could be
A charade of invisible yesterdays
That a starched citizenry deigns to know
(We deign to know)
Draped and arrayed
Faded flashbacks to different days
All of these present presentations of these people just like memories of holidays on parade
in hand me downs from hidden hands
outfits and skin outfits and skin
Lorin Brice Hall is a wannabe writer and homeless services worker from Columbia, South Carolina. He sends his love to his family.
Lucky Bug Magazine 