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The One-Legged Hopping Man In a city of the misshapen it is only the truly monstrous who will stand out in a crowd, but above and beyond all, was The One-Legged Hopping Man. He would bob up and down through the mob of the one-eyed, the double-headed, the three-toed, et cetera. He owned no crutch nor cane, just one long whipcord thin leg and none other. He'd get about like a living pogo stick. He was naked except for the turban on his head, a skimpy loincloth and a bed roll under one arm. I went after him once, to see where he would go, and go he did-- faster and ever faster, and I could hardly keep up through the mob of mutants, of miscreants, of monsters. At last he stopped and turned to me and said --In a world of the misbegotten, it is perfection that is seen as error--. |
Additional Notes:
This poem was published in Arcanum Cafe.
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