Read The Job Page 1

The Job

  By Agluppos

  Thank you for purchasing/borrowing/downloading this ebook. This ebook remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied or distributed for commercial purposes without my permission. More thanks! ;)

  © 2013 Agluppos

  ISBN: 978-951-98911-6-3 (ePub)

  ISBN: 978-951-98911-5-6 (paperback)

  Pathways:

  O Fiskars

  The deacon devils

  The Lexicon of Stone

  Obscure French porn pop

  Metatarsuses

  The armours are sleeping by the road

  Bugs

  About Agluppos

  Stone's rolling on the graveyard,

  the baroque standard lamps stand

  by the naked paths

  and the surveillance cameras spy blue collars

  drawing lines to the sand with Fiskars rakes

  I wander behind the bell tower on rock

  it is firm against the soles, it will take it

  I pull a cigarette secretly, I cough

  like on a train they thunder past the village,

  the faces and voices

  past the wood in their miserable cars

  It is a strange whistle stop now, still here I am

  even if it doesn't concern me

  or really anyone else either

  particularly it does not concern my wallet

  which remains empty

  as this widely deserted garden

  and this blank, dull day

  they still wage wars beyond the frontiers

  and they eat cactuses in the slums behind the sea

  and there are bedbugs in our tomatoes

  O how this flat, pointless grass rings

  whose mind could it calm in the hell anyway

  and in the heaven they don't miss it

  with their harps and pling plong

  This originated ages ago: they started to die

  and as plague wreaked havoc

  and the breaking wheels got crowded

  they set up a stone quarry

  and commenced hiding corpses under granite

  There are them aplenty here alright

  and all with personal epitaphs,

  as the office's brochure describes

  the letters are provided with golden borders, or without

  But now let's quit kidding,

  this is the valley of sorrow

  the weeds must be expelled from the banks

  so the cadavers do not take offence

  and rise at night,

  to scratch plantains from their resting places

  I look at the work machines

  scythe would be best for that bank

  but chief wants to hear the betraying blatting,

  to track the blue collars

  Listen, this is hard biz, no slacking

  Right, nope, right, nope

  I wonder how big a sledgehammer one needs

  to properly mineralize those suckers

  when petrol runs out, I laugh

  just like the pitched, dry bore in the desert

  I visit the city, I try to blow this stink from my skull

  I walk and register, stone and board goods

  here's another pile

  I ponder where it might be going

  I sit and watch folks,

  Today

  I had the privilege to dig

  with a magnificent hangover,

  and I discovered

  six uncanny soft brown, round objects

  under the soil (from the old territory)

  got malicious thump to the spade,

  and as I wavered

  the sexton cursed

  now give that here goddamnit

  I passed it to him, by all means, take, please

  there's more where that came from

  we piled them

  on a handsome hill under the fir twigs

  I suggested to take one of the cuties to the coffee break

  for old times’ sake, but it didn't amuse

  our Lady Comrade at all,

  lousy coffee company, I suppose

  Later in the afternoon I showed my dear chick

  one vertebra, just as she wanted

  she almost puked

  meh, I returned it to the grave grove, not quite

  at its proper place

  and very soon the transgressor felt ashamed

  and worried if the violated ones would come

  and haunt his dreams,

  bring grey hair and blood bursts

  (they came)