Pots.

There were pots: Lots and lots of pots. There was water in a tank over the pots; there were wolves and wild buffaloes drinking water in the tank over the pots. There was water in the clouds over the water in the tank over the pots, ready to fall and fill the pots below the tank that had water drank by wolves and wild buffaloes.

A man with a stick approached the pots and smashed all of them. The man with the wooden stick was smashed by wild buffaloes drinking water in the tank. The man with the wooden stick cut away from the burnt oak tree at the end of the road was saved from being dead by water falling on his face from the clouds over the tank with water over the smashed pots when the buffaloes lost their interest in him to the water puddle around his body. A wolf, red in eyes and fur as black as the wooden stick cut away from the burnt oak tree at the end of the road, pounced on the man with the stick in the warmth of the evening sun above the clouds with water falling on the puddle around the man from which wild buffaloes drank water.

The broken pots below the tank with water drank by wolves filled with water from the clouds. Wolves drinking water from the tank over the smashed pots joined the wolf with red eyes and fur as black as the wooden stick cut away from the burnt oak tree at the end of road to maul the man mauled by wild buffaloes. As blood, as red as the eyes of the wolf to first pounce on him, seeped out of his leg like water overflowing out of the smashed pots filled by water from the clouds over the tank with water, he got scared. He got up and ran faster than baboons running away from the fire that caught the oak tree at the end of the road from which a stick was cut away to smash the pots below the tank with water from which wolves and wild buffaloes drank water.

The man with the stick ran into the woods north of the tank with water forgetting the stick cut away from the burnt oak tree at the end of the road and no one cared.

Inspiration: Nano-wrimo is fast approaching and this is a taster for the time to come.  A lot of delightful pulp is going to fill the space with exciting stories, carefully written, after years and years of experimenting and playing with the form. Novels are going to be novel. Or is it?

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2 thoughts on “Pots.

  1. This has a feel of Richard Siken about it, also it harmonises with my own ‘lithopoesis’ that I was writing in 2010. I can ‘hear’ this prose-poem very clearly.

  2. I had a hard time deciding whether to leave punctuation or have it in this piece. Leaving it out would have had a better effect, but grammatically, I don’t know. Still messing around the form and trying my best to avoid overusing parallelism. 🙂

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