Monday

"Here come the seagulls," the bum said
as he stood at the edge of his newly deposited
puddle of puke.
An hour before, he drank three bottles of cheapo wine and ate
a couple of hundred pages out of a dictionary.
The pages were there in his puddle of puke, saturated, and then
his gastric juices started breaking down the paper with the words,
disintegrating some of the definitions and syllables and letters
of some of the words, transforming the language.
He pissed on the pages to counteract their disintegration
He kept those pages in his pocket, with those changed words.
He started using those new words.
This strange, patchy language caught on with the bums on the street -
That's where everything starts.
A new language was born that day.
Salud.

No comments: