n a poseidon stampede. Filthy rags
are prayer cakes left over from the last sabbat and become holed
coffins for those still searching for involvement.

Islands drift into protoplasm atolls as the city stalks itself.
Cockroaches are the plumbers of eternity. Rapid fire legs sidestep the
etchings of industrious ants while silverfish are the boatmen trouncing
human oars. Living is a Stegasorous swinging its tail.

Scraps are inviting guests as insects lord over a habitat free of
blight and homuncular stain.

PLAUDITS

Loki, the Norwegian god of mischief, sends out a lithesome blonde with
a slinkiness that ravishes the libido. She presses her dream-like form
against the windowpane. The night is soft about the city's lights.
Water cascades in the distance, while small, black crickets' shovel
sounds around pricked ears. The diminished man ignores this, instead
busying himself with drawing lions on a vast sheet of blank paper.
There is no word for happiness in the Malawi tongue and this disturbs
him. What far reaching implications for the people of Africa.

He stands and downs a drink to ease his parched mouth. A moisture ring
blurs one of his lions, and, again, he will lose the battle against the
king of beasts tonight.

SUMMER'S CLOCK

"And the day is a wounded boy." Garcia Lorca

Two is a fonder number gracing the clock than one--a relief from
monogamy, a rightful place to start. Three is too midway, cantankerous
in its sound, still four is drab and stony and the sun lies too low in
the sky for any truthful expression of real afternoon. Five is somewhat
better, the sky is pressuring evening and, by six, is big with shadows
that foresee the coming dark.

With seven, ambers and misty wraps are charged in pastel tones
celebrating the arrival of eight. At nine, all pretense is dropped that
its still daylight and colours lie bludgeoned--extinguished in the
dark. Ten through near dawn is blissful and quiet, no confusing
escapades of shifting light. Only the hour before dawn promises a
summer respite any different than the cue sung at midnight.

The absence of colour and light diminish confusion over the sun's
relative positioning. One need experience no mood fluctuations over
birth or hasty departure of the day. In the broad smile of no light,
the frock of virginal black remains securely intact.

AUTOMOBILE SOFT LEGS

"The world's smallest painting ... Our Beautiful Canada was painted
with a single hair