Prose Poetry from Web Del Sol


Russell Edson

      The barber has accidentally taken off an ear. It lies like something newborn on the floor in a nest of hair.
      Oops, says the barber, but it musn't've been a very good ear, it came off with very little complaint.
      It wasn't, says the customer, it was always overly waxed. I tried putting a wick in it to burn out the wax, thus to find my way to music. But lighting it I put my whole head on fire. It even spread to my groin and underarms and to a nearby forest. I felt like a saint. Someone thought I was a genius.
      That's comforting, says the barber, still, I can't send you home with only one ear. I'll have to remove the other one. But don't worry, it'll be an accident.
      Symmetry demands it. But make sure it's an accident, I don't want you cutting me up on purpose.
      Maybe I'll just slit your throat.
      But it has to be an accident . . .