Here’s another Exquisite Corpse story.
You die. Your body fills with air and you grow wings and fly into a purple sky like a pigeon. Your hair fidgets like shredded snakeskin. You look like a piece of chicken. You look like a twenty dollar bill because your feathers are green now. You become a monster with ugly cooks holding knives and spoons growing out of your ribs. You become a cheese-eating chimpanzee. You fly ten feet away. You turn around. You rush to center of the Earth and you hurry up talking. You mess up a pile of books. You better clean it up or you will have black teeth. You bust into dust. But you should stop because you can play at lunchtime.
Here’s another exquisite corpse poem we wrote together as a class. It was like playing Madlibs, except every line was blank.
How old is Mother Nature?
As old as scary houses that jump on foolish computers.
Why invent things?
Because restless cardboard oozes poisonous snacks.
Why is there anger?
Because tense opinions blackmail ominous books.
Why don’t animals laugh?
Because fluffy adoption thinks adorable chicks peck lickety-split.
Who were the first people on Earth?
Uncontrollable detectives who scaled frantic rocks.
Why do mosquitoes buzz in people’s ears?
Because freaky wagons play on ultimate coins.
Is there a God?
Obvious remedies scurry over changeable locks.
This story is a Surrealist style Exquisite Corpse story. Every student wrote a sentence on a piece of paper (the only rule was don’t use the verb “to be”) then we put the papers up on the board. We discussed the best way to arrange them and how to revise. The art here was done the same way. One student drew the head, then folded the paper over. The next student drew the middle of the creature’s body without seeing its head then folded the paper over again. The last student drew the bottom of the body without seeing the head or the middle. When the creature was drawn, another student colored it in and cut it out.
It will always begin with someone and a pie. The someone will be an astronaut and the astronaut will turn into a pie and the pie will turn into an astronaut. On Saturn, the astronaut will jump thirteen feet high. Her shadow will creep all night, knowing it will not be caught. Since the astronaut is a pie, her smooth hair will not need shampoo. It will flow through the air. It will brush across my face. It will float in a green sky with the clouds. Her rocket will brake so she won’t come home. Her body will fill with water soon. She will grow lady legs and she will put on a brown shirt with pictures of tiny pies on it.