SEQUIN

SEQUINA youthful banditthis forest--faltering eyelids in mud troughs& puddles likebrisk lieswoven thru deception.Stealing autumn intoits colours,leaves in birchbark rustlea full mauraude stealthacross every breeze.Thief, thiefelf with a key,a thousand rasping angelstheir throaty javelinshurled from branch's edge,brief pageant robbingsummer's pantry.Offal of the fall,the lake a sequined glovetossed from a careless hand;a rowboat as a bucklechromatic foamfor a finger's fan.[45]

A youthful banditthis forest--faltering eyelids in mud troughs& puddles likebrisk lieswoven thru deception.Stealing autumn intoits colours,leaves in birchbark rustlea full mauraude stealthacross every breeze.Thief, thiefelf with a key,a thousand rasping angelstheir throaty javelinshurled from branch's edge,brief pageant robbingsummer's pantry.Offal of the fall,the lake a sequined glovetossed from a careless hand;a rowboat as a bucklechromatic foamfor a finger's fan.[45]

YELLOW HAIRWith that lime green hairnetcommonly used by butterfly dispatchers--something your aunt might have commandeeredto put her hair up donkey's years ago,I unjarred the bottle of air &with a pair of forcepstried to wrangle the life juicesfrom a Polyphemeus[1] in a manner akin to Ulyssesin that cave three millenia ago;his gentle bleating like the whineof the net across the gelatin fabricof air or the flash of a tomahawk glidingacross Custer's golden hair.[1] Large buff silk-moth with two eyespots on the hind wings named forthe giant Polyphemeus in the Odyssey. Ulysses had the giant blindedwith a sharpened pole.[46]

With that lime green hairnetcommonly used by butterfly dispatchers--something your aunt might have commandeeredto put her hair up donkey's years ago,I unjarred the bottle of air &with a pair of forcepstried to wrangle the life juicesfrom a Polyphemeus[1] in a manner akin to Ulyssesin that cave three millenia ago;his gentle bleating like the whineof the net across the gelatin fabricof air or the flash of a tomahawk glidingacross Custer's golden hair.[1] Large buff silk-moth with two eyespots on the hind wings named forthe giant Polyphemeus in the Odyssey. Ulysses had the giant blindedwith a sharpened pole.[46]

PILTDOWN MANPopping out of the darkreddish "Merry Christmas" hazetwinking blinking land of Nod (orrather it's Ned, the hefty trucker);eyes, steel-belted radials,in a rig big like Santa Claus;a Stegosaurusswinging sabre-toothed tail& flexing padded pawsto gobble night.Loads so dreary-weary their chrome-platedswamps are debris after a tank battlefor troglodyte trilobites &chocolate coloured oozebelching brown down funnel flapsto carve deep bellows inside earth.Such energetic slavesto cough & sound theirwheezing sandy blasts make forbreaks in a clearingfor I see our trucker,eons from now,wedded to sentiment and rockperfectly preserved (to the dismayof future inhabitants), a fossilizedremnant complete withsteering wheel embedded in his chest(forlorn and anatomically correct much asdolls used in assault cases).In a vision,envisage his lifereplete to the last Raggetty-Anne detail--straw-coloured hair, for one,looms like binder-twine orhorse-hair thread tugged from a dirty mattresswhich props a toque or baseball cap,tobacco staining the residentgum chewing Neanderthalwith tartan lumberjack shirt.Contact with Piltdown Man,soggy Homo Erectusgiven to gunning engines,churning rubber as cavemenmight in theLa Brera tarpits.Consider a farmerbrief centuries agostumbling onto a similar scenepocketing no cloverleafsof his own pasture's makingbut concrete expresswayslooming thru the fog& damp, thencoming to his senses,hard-pressed as I.[47]

Popping out of the darkreddish "Merry Christmas" hazetwinking blinking land of Nod (orrather it's Ned, the hefty trucker);eyes, steel-belted radials,in a rig big like Santa Claus;a Stegosaurusswinging sabre-toothed tail& flexing padded pawsto gobble night.Loads so dreary-weary their chrome-platedswamps are debris after a tank battlefor troglodyte trilobites &chocolate coloured oozebelching brown down funnel flapsto carve deep bellows inside earth.Such energetic slavesto cough & sound theirwheezing sandy blasts make forbreaks in a clearingfor I see our trucker,eons from now,wedded to sentiment and rockperfectly preserved (to the dismayof future inhabitants), a fossilizedremnant complete withsteering wheel embedded in his chest(forlorn and anatomically correct much asdolls used in assault cases).In a vision,envisage his lifereplete to the last Raggetty-Anne detail--straw-coloured hair, for one,looms like binder-twine orhorse-hair thread tugged from a dirty mattresswhich props a toque or baseball cap,tobacco staining the residentgum chewing Neanderthalwith tartan lumberjack shirt.Contact with Piltdown Man,soggy Homo Erectusgiven to gunning engines,churning rubber as cavemenmight in theLa Brera tarpits.Consider a farmerbrief centuries agostumbling onto a similar scenepocketing no cloverleafsof his own pasture's makingbut concrete expresswayslooming thru the fog& damp, thencoming to his senses,hard-pressed as I.[47]

SPANKEDBuying up egg rolls at 50¢ a kick,they royally entered our bloodstream--a riot of sensationakin to dynamite capskicked off in the brain.Later, sitting in the bootha chocolate brown wallto aid the digestion;a frumpy waitressplunks water downto complete the feast.Taken back, the surchargeat such festivities exorbitant,we squander in exact changethe full price to do it again.[49]

Buying up egg rolls at 50¢ a kick,they royally entered our bloodstream--a riot of sensationakin to dynamite capskicked off in the brain.Later, sitting in the bootha chocolate brown wallto aid the digestion;a frumpy waitressplunks water downto complete the feast.Taken back, the surchargeat such festivities exorbitant,we squander in exact changethe full price to do it again.[49]

THE CROWKEEPER"she gallops night by night through lovers' brains...."I see grindstones in the sky,pots of tulips overturned--big tug of the reinsand chestnut hairis seen before the windowpanewith chance & more chance lost tofrost or hungry beesthis still autumn eve.Darling,walls that division usare envelopes of passionbridging trust, seal itlest it rust.Skeletal scrapingsmake for poor bedding(this poor rhinoceros of lies)the devil gliding about so disguisedon his tentacle and toenail chair(inviting lair) or is ithiccup and bandaged prayeryet stalwart wall is a rosary beadthick ale and bread to hungry snailor, better, lips to Romeo's blushing pilgrims.Then, sudden, I'm old--on a bench counting starswhere each is a radiant patch of energyleased to the dark,an emblem burst mailed from eternity,spark to cigaret's flameto burn these little sunsas cupid tails; your "bright eye, scarlet lip,fine foot, straight legand quivering thigh."[50]

"she gallops night by night through lovers' brains...."I see grindstones in the sky,pots of tulips overturned--big tug of the reinsand chestnut hairis seen before the windowpanewith chance & more chance lost tofrost or hungry beesthis still autumn eve.Darling,walls that division usare envelopes of passionbridging trust, seal itlest it rust.Skeletal scrapingsmake for poor bedding(this poor rhinoceros of lies)the devil gliding about so disguisedon his tentacle and toenail chair(inviting lair) or is ithiccup and bandaged prayeryet stalwart wall is a rosary beadthick ale and bread to hungry snailor, better, lips to Romeo's blushing pilgrims.Then, sudden, I'm old--on a bench counting starswhere each is a radiant patch of energyleased to the dark,an emblem burst mailed from eternity,spark to cigaret's flameto burn these little sunsas cupid tails; your "bright eye, scarlet lip,fine foot, straight legand quivering thigh."[50]

CUANDO-CUBANGOMoths, if they dream dusk,sport esurient hip-flasks on their wings--gangster rum-runners better to sully dark,traverse caravans of colouramid silk-routesto dazzle Prester John,cork unscrew the unicorn horn askew.2Compte de la Motheescadrilles/flotillasD'Entrecasteauxwith Bougainville discoveringwell, Bougainvillaea and I,latter day la Perouse,cunningly amuck on coraladoration and wine,(red as scarlet leaves)chenille, frangipanni and the Marquis house coloursof the flame-bitten tropics.3Let me scandalize why.Watch the sea churnto white bubbles then coatyour nostril with brineto run a fingerdown brown skin passingfor the Bronze Age.4Notice the invention of sun,a cloak suspendedin a canopy-canoe profusion(left over from the first dawn,)oasis of calm,patter of motes and beams.Garden of Shalimar.5My sentiments exactly.[51]

Moths, if they dream dusk,sport esurient hip-flasks on their wings--gangster rum-runners better to sully dark,traverse caravans of colouramid silk-routesto dazzle Prester John,cork unscrew the unicorn horn askew.2Compte de la Motheescadrilles/flotillasD'Entrecasteauxwith Bougainville discoveringwell, Bougainvillaea and I,latter day la Perouse,cunningly amuck on coraladoration and wine,(red as scarlet leaves)chenille, frangipanni and the Marquis house coloursof the flame-bitten tropics.3Let me scandalize why.Watch the sea churnto white bubbles then coatyour nostril with brineto run a fingerdown brown skin passingfor the Bronze Age.4Notice the invention of sun,a cloak suspendedin a canopy-canoe profusion(left over from the first dawn,)oasis of calm,patter of motes and beams.Garden of Shalimar.5My sentiments exactly.[51]

ONOMATOPOEIAOne thing about this type of education, it certainly taught anindividual to be philosophical about death.He could ruminate conversably on the ultimate fate of a Greekshade or the Mesopotamian interpretation of the underworld.Even contemplate figuratively what Achilles felt was his truefuneral abode.Shoel. The grave. Romantic poetry might have little practicalapplication but it was great conversational stuff.A book or two by obscure authors sure broke the ice at parties,was unbeatable verbal jousting.Too bad the joke was on him for majoring in it.Few people really cared what onomatopoeia was or thatPresquile was in Maine. Worse, they acted like you were nutsfor studying the Aeneid. The Aeneid! It did, too, haveimportance. Literature, that is.Why it gave a man depth, a presence, a gracefulness thattranscended petty, material strivings. Too bad, one couldn'tshow the white palms of one's hand for a living or revel in softflesh as the natural mark of a born aristocrat. O tempora, ohmores: that the classics had fallen so low.It was maddening that literary civilization was within a hair'sbreadth at being snuffed by the ordinary convention of taskbearing.Being a poet, so basic to everything, didn't even show up onManpower's computer scan.The universities didn't care they were having the times of theirlives parsing verbs and conjugating declensions, tellinggraduates "the pendulum will swing".The best retort for that was the pithy epigram of the workingman toiling in honest sweat within the secure bounds of a trade.[52]

One thing about this type of education, it certainly taught anindividual to be philosophical about death.He could ruminate conversably on the ultimate fate of a Greekshade or the Mesopotamian interpretation of the underworld.Even contemplate figuratively what Achilles felt was his truefuneral abode.Shoel. The grave. Romantic poetry might have little practicalapplication but it was great conversational stuff.A book or two by obscure authors sure broke the ice at parties,was unbeatable verbal jousting.Too bad the joke was on him for majoring in it.Few people really cared what onomatopoeia was or thatPresquile was in Maine. Worse, they acted like you were nutsfor studying the Aeneid. The Aeneid! It did, too, haveimportance. Literature, that is.Why it gave a man depth, a presence, a gracefulness thattranscended petty, material strivings. Too bad, one couldn'tshow the white palms of one's hand for a living or revel in softflesh as the natural mark of a born aristocrat. O tempora, ohmores: that the classics had fallen so low.It was maddening that literary civilization was within a hair'sbreadth at being snuffed by the ordinary convention of taskbearing.Being a poet, so basic to everything, didn't even show up onManpower's computer scan.The universities didn't care they were having the times of theirlives parsing verbs and conjugating declensions, tellinggraduates "the pendulum will swing".The best retort for that was the pithy epigram of the workingman toiling in honest sweat within the secure bounds of a trade.[52]

AT THE RED THROATIn youth, Death wasa puny boy possessing butwormy hands & fleshless fingersas in Witch Hazelor Scrooge's Future Ghost--that insipid Evil OneHansel so easily outwittedin a gingerbread house.Time brought increased notoriety.Saucy times with a soupçon of respectfor the artful dodger.Givens change, an armful oforange lilies, limp & loathsome,on a tombstone doorbefore trumpets of rain.Graven images. Lifeless stone.Death became stone.Stone empty. The maggot emptinessburrowing into chiselled easel andthe stone-cutter's savage magic.Just a bitty stoneto herald a passing.Night-jars.Old straw-chairs witha broom pronouncingthe wall base with its touch empty,the empress of bandagesleaning to ragson table scraps,sorry gloom of an old buildingby a pickled lakeleaking into ebb twilight.The coronation of the nightmare,the moon with her billowing robes and withered spoonunfolding midstream ...la cauchemar oudénudée soiréeto discover, with wonder, ices with sherbetreek like nightsweats;a windsail of pooled lightthru puddles of trees.Brackish backwater--thoughts of black iceand huddled masses of silverbreaking thru the sun'swinter curtain as erupting coins.[53]

In youth, Death wasa puny boy possessing butwormy hands & fleshless fingersas in Witch Hazelor Scrooge's Future Ghost--that insipid Evil OneHansel so easily outwittedin a gingerbread house.Time brought increased notoriety.Saucy times with a soupçon of respectfor the artful dodger.Givens change, an armful oforange lilies, limp & loathsome,on a tombstone doorbefore trumpets of rain.Graven images. Lifeless stone.Death became stone.Stone empty. The maggot emptinessburrowing into chiselled easel andthe stone-cutter's savage magic.Just a bitty stoneto herald a passing.Night-jars.Old straw-chairs witha broom pronouncingthe wall base with its touch empty,the empress of bandagesleaning to ragson table scraps,sorry gloom of an old buildingby a pickled lakeleaking into ebb twilight.The coronation of the nightmare,the moon with her billowing robes and withered spoonunfolding midstream ...la cauchemar oudénudée soiréeto discover, with wonder, ices with sherbetreek like nightsweats;a windsail of pooled lightthru puddles of trees.Brackish backwater--thoughts of black iceand huddled masses of silverbreaking thru the sun'swinter curtain as erupting coins.[53]

SHAMROCKIs there anything prettier than that--to stare into your manifold spacestoward the hook & vineof cathedral leaps,the vaults & cryptsas go-betweens of an earthy worship,the supine female form?By quiet pools,thrush in the thicketwith red berry behind its eye,miniature sunproceeding by the branchto undress the barkwith leaves aspassionate culpritskissing dark.Clasped handsupward lies the skymy masterpiece angel,I bite lush meadows,tread spongy brooks,endear daring small of back,crevice taste nape and neck,a beatific pilgrim nearinga fleshy way-station,first charting his compass,fathoming a probeto collect armfuls of starlight &shade, hair, eye, lip like fragrant sea-grape--pine & cedar bough in love-lorn resin smile.[55]

Is there anything prettier than that--to stare into your manifold spacestoward the hook & vineof cathedral leaps,the vaults & cryptsas go-betweens of an earthy worship,the supine female form?By quiet pools,thrush in the thicketwith red berry behind its eye,miniature sunproceeding by the branchto undress the barkwith leaves aspassionate culpritskissing dark.Clasped handsupward lies the skymy masterpiece angel,I bite lush meadows,tread spongy brooks,endear daring small of back,crevice taste nape and neck,a beatific pilgrim nearinga fleshy way-station,first charting his compass,fathoming a probeto collect armfuls of starlight &shade, hair, eye, lip like fragrant sea-grape--pine & cedar bough in love-lorn resin smile.[55]

LOST PATROLBlue walls were grottoes,subterranean panelsfor covert messages, theoccasional mot justesquirrelled up thru paint & memory.Something like guitar strings danglingonly you employedtear sheets from Rolling Stone(counter-culture fly paperto catch the runny masses).The blue walls existed asfiring ranges, gunpowderplots for ideas scribbledon pencil waveslike the movementof snakes (or commandoeson their bellies) thrudesert sand.Blue walls. Blue grottoes.Blue moods to temper finger oases(tap-tap of skeletal tree on your window pane)crawling thick with pregnant fruitionwith the bayonet lull of words.Snippets of that legacy (hobnailed like alost patrol)forlorn as yellowing pagesor dusky petals unfolding.[56]

Blue walls were grottoes,subterranean panelsfor covert messages, theoccasional mot justesquirrelled up thru paint & memory.Something like guitar strings danglingonly you employedtear sheets from Rolling Stone(counter-culture fly paperto catch the runny masses).The blue walls existed asfiring ranges, gunpowderplots for ideas scribbledon pencil waveslike the movementof snakes (or commandoeson their bellies) thrudesert sand.Blue walls. Blue grottoes.Blue moods to temper finger oases(tap-tap of skeletal tree on your window pane)crawling thick with pregnant fruitionwith the bayonet lull of words.Snippets of that legacy (hobnailed like alost patrol)forlorn as yellowing pagesor dusky petals unfolding.[56]

BLACKAMOORBreaking up--as in the cloissoné jar you dropped. . .little regard,a few brittle pieces scattered about the floor.Let's call it "shedding feelings". Expensive?There's always another humidor tucked away inthe cranny of another antique shop; after all,a woman is only a womanalthough a fine, Cuban importis a worthy smoke."What this country needs is a good 5¢ cigar".Panatellas?He might have added tight-fitting, long lasting.Nooks & crannies.Little things, your ways. Fruit fly (perhaps damsel wing)as symbol of perishability. My emblematic coat of arms.No season of regrets, rathersnatch of minutes, the oasis span of a single candle.Who knows?The sun nudging petalsat the close of another day.Your eyelids casting shrouds (and shadows),the long funeral walk of your hair across the pillow.Then awakening. You gathering tresses much as a bird trillingfeathers.Clandestine, theserendez-vous' Clementines.Air of mystery and melancholy street,the moon up & pokingholes in my argument.Tedious fingers,no accountmatter of factnesslasting eternities.Imagine, you & this moon,dowagers together crotchety,decades hence, making tea.Curls of black leaves, grumbling.Blackamoor and sadness,cult king of emptytransforming the bright & ruddycomplexion into barely honourable dishwater.You can ask what this means.A cough. Twirl of spoonin a cup, deafening answers.I prefer the lonelywine bottle,egret in flight & motion,retaining dignity acrossa crumpled, brown bag.Listless, linoleum floor.[57]

Breaking up--as in the cloissoné jar you dropped. . .little regard,a few brittle pieces scattered about the floor.Let's call it "shedding feelings". Expensive?There's always another humidor tucked away inthe cranny of another antique shop; after all,a woman is only a womanalthough a fine, Cuban importis a worthy smoke."What this country needs is a good 5¢ cigar".Panatellas?He might have added tight-fitting, long lasting.Nooks & crannies.Little things, your ways. Fruit fly (perhaps damsel wing)as symbol of perishability. My emblematic coat of arms.No season of regrets, rathersnatch of minutes, the oasis span of a single candle.Who knows?The sun nudging petalsat the close of another day.Your eyelids casting shrouds (and shadows),the long funeral walk of your hair across the pillow.Then awakening. You gathering tresses much as a bird trillingfeathers.Clandestine, theserendez-vous' Clementines.Air of mystery and melancholy street,the moon up & pokingholes in my argument.Tedious fingers,no accountmatter of factnesslasting eternities.Imagine, you & this moon,dowagers together crotchety,decades hence, making tea.Curls of black leaves, grumbling.Blackamoor and sadness,cult king of emptytransforming the bright & ruddycomplexion into barely honourable dishwater.You can ask what this means.A cough. Twirl of spoonin a cup, deafening answers.I prefer the lonelywine bottle,egret in flight & motion,retaining dignity acrossa crumpled, brown bag.Listless, linoleum floor.[57]

UP FROM THE FLOORThey sit in silence. In camera, around the table. Terrifyinglystern, stares that grew antlers in my eyes.It was as if thunder or bolts with electricity were being decreed.The self-important, the pompous, well-fed and self-assured.Here to hazard a fling of the dice--to decide whether anothershould eat.Employment. The interview. One with yellow tusks protrudingto his coffee cup. Eyes, some primordial forest cut for afirebreak back of his soul. And I think of the desperate, thoselacking bus-fare to get to such a carnival. Valuable postagemoney, photocopying, scrimped dollars for a suit to entertainthe pumpkins dicing for a worthless garment. A scavenger run,piles of white applications heaped as bones in a graveyard madecareless after a violent storm.Or elephants in tow, trunks wrapped around the other waitingfor the ringmaster to signal the question important; whethera neophyte new at sharpening his teeth at a daily wage should beallowed presence onto such a hallowed ground.And I think such things are the very matter of evil--that theseare vile intemperates with their accursed shortlists deigning tobe gracious, shaking hands after the fact. Mafioso manners, thesickly grins back of the shovels used to bury another.[59]

They sit in silence. In camera, around the table. Terrifyinglystern, stares that grew antlers in my eyes.It was as if thunder or bolts with electricity were being decreed.The self-important, the pompous, well-fed and self-assured.Here to hazard a fling of the dice--to decide whether anothershould eat.Employment. The interview. One with yellow tusks protrudingto his coffee cup. Eyes, some primordial forest cut for afirebreak back of his soul. And I think of the desperate, thoselacking bus-fare to get to such a carnival. Valuable postagemoney, photocopying, scrimped dollars for a suit to entertainthe pumpkins dicing for a worthless garment. A scavenger run,piles of white applications heaped as bones in a graveyard madecareless after a violent storm.Or elephants in tow, trunks wrapped around the other waitingfor the ringmaster to signal the question important; whethera neophyte new at sharpening his teeth at a daily wage should beallowed presence onto such a hallowed ground.And I think such things are the very matter of evil--that theseare vile intemperates with their accursed shortlists deigning tobe gracious, shaking hands after the fact. Mafioso manners, thesickly grins back of the shovels used to bury another.[59]

MEN OF SHADEAll the candles are passing out, one by one.They have evaporated their brightness,overpowered limpid cracks in their own flames, seizedthe outpouring air with hesitant breath to bravea flicker of new hearth while knocking holes againstthe warm men decorating fireside shade.[60]

All the candles are passing out, one by one.They have evaporated their brightness,overpowered limpid cracks in their own flames, seizedthe outpouring air with hesitant breath to bravea flicker of new hearth while knocking holes againstthe warm men decorating fireside shade.[60]

KNIGHT-ERRANTA well-thumbed booklike a well-thumbed life,"whilst you walk this earth"yet nothing is "afoot",as so many small boysthrowing stones through the funeral parlourglass door.A cake-walk? Being alive and interactingacross the face of the multitude is terriblealgebra running into unfathomable sums."Doing your sums", my grade school teacherused to say and I still am. Whippersnapper,learning lessons in a strange staminasort of way.One of the multitude died last night &is now "resting" in a large, Victorian parlour.Even the walls grimace. I went by, caught a peekat the assemblage chasing thru rain to see hislast hurrah. Look, "parlour" can be deadly seriouseven if ice-cream and pizza attach dead-pan humourto the term. Imagine, picking the last day of themonth to go packing. Finale."Going down to the sea in ships". Death as voyage escapingprison confines of the harbour. Cliches donate dim glimpsesinto the apparent.One sees a lot by the moon.Crisp, fall air andleaves yellowingfrightened from their witsto end their brief, balloon walk. Suchfaraway faces of Eve and a boatmoored to a dock.Crossing streets --a gray, fusillade church,knight-errant, breaks the night.Trees chuckle in coves through wispy clouds.Madonna's face in a shawl only it's not on thestained glass window I see her. She seemsto be pouting. Ashamed of what we have to go throughat the end of this filth and stupidity? Restrictions?Death lifts them in one heave of the casket. More illuminatingare the mourners. Dashing thru the sleet in brief poignancy;shrill, old voices that knew the deceased recitingwhat can only be the obvious. Leaden eyes that cast no shadow.Hardly analogous to being "called home" or "going to theirreward".More light is cast by the street lamp, the pale glow of firefliesand neon signs winking-drinking waves like the fisherman'scork.This place is holy to me. A shrine. Night air with mistcollecting,watching flames shuffle over hearth-stones; leaves mount aglade.The bitterest berry, flower to lily of the valley. A heart thatmakes gravelly noise. Tiny angel spread of petals, no blackfuneral vestments for me.Standing close to the clock and thinking.A luxury bought with time,in every evening weeping in the corner.[61]

A well-thumbed booklike a well-thumbed life,"whilst you walk this earth"yet nothing is "afoot",as so many small boysthrowing stones through the funeral parlourglass door.A cake-walk? Being alive and interactingacross the face of the multitude is terriblealgebra running into unfathomable sums."Doing your sums", my grade school teacherused to say and I still am. Whippersnapper,learning lessons in a strange staminasort of way.One of the multitude died last night &is now "resting" in a large, Victorian parlour.Even the walls grimace. I went by, caught a peekat the assemblage chasing thru rain to see hislast hurrah. Look, "parlour" can be deadly seriouseven if ice-cream and pizza attach dead-pan humourto the term. Imagine, picking the last day of themonth to go packing. Finale."Going down to the sea in ships". Death as voyage escapingprison confines of the harbour. Cliches donate dim glimpsesinto the apparent.One sees a lot by the moon.Crisp, fall air andleaves yellowingfrightened from their witsto end their brief, balloon walk. Suchfaraway faces of Eve and a boatmoored to a dock.Crossing streets --a gray, fusillade church,knight-errant, breaks the night.Trees chuckle in coves through wispy clouds.Madonna's face in a shawl only it's not on thestained glass window I see her. She seemsto be pouting. Ashamed of what we have to go throughat the end of this filth and stupidity? Restrictions?Death lifts them in one heave of the casket. More illuminatingare the mourners. Dashing thru the sleet in brief poignancy;shrill, old voices that knew the deceased recitingwhat can only be the obvious. Leaden eyes that cast no shadow.Hardly analogous to being "called home" or "going to theirreward".More light is cast by the street lamp, the pale glow of firefliesand neon signs winking-drinking waves like the fisherman'scork.This place is holy to me. A shrine. Night air with mistcollecting,watching flames shuffle over hearth-stones; leaves mount aglade.The bitterest berry, flower to lily of the valley. A heart thatmakes gravelly noise. Tiny angel spread of petals, no blackfuneral vestments for me.Standing close to the clock and thinking.A luxury bought with time,in every evening weeping in the corner.[61]

WATER FAST (THE PEARL FISHERS)Shopping in their heads--a man a pair of shoesright colour (tan, off-white) shape--only good physiques need apply,degree, tall;self-confidence a "must".Not yuppie, really,more consumerism as inI made the grade (she reallythinks this; meanwhile, she'splump, dull).Standing in the showroom window,she spies the mirror image of herself.Your attitude is your altitude.Of course, he's "polished"(tho' not worn), urbanewitty--this goes without saying.Well-travelled, maybe, though potentialliability, here, suggestive of footloose.Restless. Perhaps given over to boutsof hedonism--a dangerous portent.Feel I've stumbled back in time,holding court with Cesare Borgia,Lorenzo the Magnificent significantlytransformed to a Renaissance courtier.Harpsichord and madrigal in hand (& head,),I recite my litany.I pack a mean wallop--humour, I mean,for no one on this spic 'n spanplanet wants somebody too droll.Intensity is a ripple from the sixties."Relationship", kickback to the after-glowon-glow seventies.Eighties women love "feedback","interfacing". Its fashionable tothink chic. Restless troubadoursshould be dyed in their own ilk.Sporty chaps are in demand, oneswith visceral longing for babies &the peroxide smell of Javex indiaper pails wafting thru their nostrils.Heady brew, Perrier & BMW types.Chrome-plated men with therazzle-dazzle of the Boardroomtugging at their cufflinks.Mutual funds equates with mutual interests.The man's wishes?A dollop of Dijon mustard on you!Hitting the nail on the head.Holding up her middle fingerto dry nail polish, I seemy future and, golly,does it ever shine.[63]

Shopping in their heads--a man a pair of shoesright colour (tan, off-white) shape--only good physiques need apply,degree, tall;self-confidence a "must".Not yuppie, really,more consumerism as inI made the grade (she reallythinks this; meanwhile, she'splump, dull).Standing in the showroom window,she spies the mirror image of herself.Your attitude is your altitude.Of course, he's "polished"(tho' not worn), urbanewitty--this goes without saying.Well-travelled, maybe, though potentialliability, here, suggestive of footloose.Restless. Perhaps given over to boutsof hedonism--a dangerous portent.Feel I've stumbled back in time,holding court with Cesare Borgia,Lorenzo the Magnificent significantlytransformed to a Renaissance courtier.Harpsichord and madrigal in hand (& head,),I recite my litany.I pack a mean wallop--humour, I mean,for no one on this spic 'n spanplanet wants somebody too droll.Intensity is a ripple from the sixties."Relationship", kickback to the after-glowon-glow seventies.Eighties women love "feedback","interfacing". Its fashionable tothink chic. Restless troubadoursshould be dyed in their own ilk.Sporty chaps are in demand, oneswith visceral longing for babies &the peroxide smell of Javex indiaper pails wafting thru their nostrils.Heady brew, Perrier & BMW types.Chrome-plated men with therazzle-dazzle of the Boardroomtugging at their cufflinks.Mutual funds equates with mutual interests.The man's wishes?A dollop of Dijon mustard on you!Hitting the nail on the head.Holding up her middle fingerto dry nail polish, I seemy future and, golly,does it ever shine.[63]

TALES OF A BRAVE ULYSSESArtists (astrologers never lie)are birthed whenVenus is rising--not against cat's whelp(eye of newt, tongue of frog)calamitous mist or London fog;far, ferny forbidding fenn.When Venus rises, yesdons Botticelli's cloakor was it her hairgathered in tresseslong by lovely handfulsparading it allon a patty shell--her twin oysters ambrosiaa Ulyssean mirroring winedark sea,purpling color of a robin's egg.Artists are bornin something of Venus . . .conceived along coral-corralhighway lariats, foamof passionmodern cowgirllowering the drapes.[65]

Artists (astrologers never lie)are birthed whenVenus is rising--not against cat's whelp(eye of newt, tongue of frog)calamitous mist or London fog;far, ferny forbidding fenn.When Venus rises, yesdons Botticelli's cloakor was it her hairgathered in tresseslong by lovely handfulsparading it allon a patty shell--her twin oysters ambrosiaa Ulyssean mirroring winedark sea,purpling color of a robin's egg.Artists are bornin something of Venus . . .conceived along coral-corralhighway lariats, foamof passionmodern cowgirllowering the drapes.[65]

INSIDE SEAMHaving wilderness cracksin emotional facadeschinks withinto let cabins in.2Porous windexamining pavement,foot-sore maybe loosewinding entrailsof our heartsinto lavatory paper;would that it pleasedriddled trees--more whistling,poked holesacross oasis trackswandering spaces.3Blistering thought,paint fleckschipped in the mica-afraidheat of wan-ton passion;(acknowledging debts to Chinese cuisine)a wan smileleft from whichI pretend to remember all.4Love-smittento lendthe reach of your arm--sighs,droop tohips heavinga droll verandah(like curtain's edgeacross the exhausted wall).5Besmirched stain,The lavender hoopof your belt is a winding lizard's skinor perspiring ropeto anchor the filmy edgeof letters written,not sent.The breeze,quiet wind--a chipmunkwith woodchipspoked into a grin.[66]

Having wilderness cracksin emotional facadeschinks withinto let cabins in.2Porous windexamining pavement,foot-sore maybe loosewinding entrailsof our heartsinto lavatory paper;would that it pleasedriddled trees--more whistling,poked holesacross oasis trackswandering spaces.3Blistering thought,paint fleckschipped in the mica-afraidheat of wan-ton passion;(acknowledging debts to Chinese cuisine)a wan smileleft from whichI pretend to remember all.4Love-smittento lendthe reach of your arm--sighs,droop tohips heavinga droll verandah(like curtain's edgeacross the exhausted wall).5Besmirched stain,The lavender hoopof your belt is a winding lizard's skinor perspiring ropeto anchor the filmy edgeof letters written,not sent.The breeze,quiet wind--a chipmunkwith woodchipspoked into a grin.[66]

DEBRIEFINGI won't envy the heat this August.The fall (English say autumn)burrowing like urinating dogsthru trees,carrying winter woolieswith sniff of aircrisscrossing the lion's tamer'spath I must trodwhen snow hits.2No, I won't envy searing blastsbe they inclementweather or lost soulsbargaining with rain.Acceptance . . . they sayis the keyand the word clangs like chimesinto my biology, a grandfather clockto my own chamber music, alittle something to cheer andserenade the buffeted spirit.3Think still thoughts in gloomy houseswhen petals cry burst in springtime.This is done in preparationfor brighter momentsecstatically greetingNovember chill,devouring the last chestnut,cursing wheat-cakes overwinter's fire.4A pleasant pagecrammed in the tumbler briefcasecarrying my life's thimble,rocketing towarda brilliant destinyall 4 seasonal planetsorchestrating mood;the patch quilt procupinequill emotion tapestryworking overtime likea fish hook thrubrain's inner eye, ocularhair shirt pulled onat warning's glanceto trigger the way I boil eggs;devour slivers of woodon learning another daykicks ass fromthe horizontal pillow.[68]

I won't envy the heat this August.The fall (English say autumn)burrowing like urinating dogsthru trees,carrying winter woolieswith sniff of aircrisscrossing the lion's tamer'spath I must trodwhen snow hits.2No, I won't envy searing blastsbe they inclementweather or lost soulsbargaining with rain.Acceptance . . . they sayis the keyand the word clangs like chimesinto my biology, a grandfather clockto my own chamber music, alittle something to cheer andserenade the buffeted spirit.3Think still thoughts in gloomy houseswhen petals cry burst in springtime.This is done in preparationfor brighter momentsecstatically greetingNovember chill,devouring the last chestnut,cursing wheat-cakes overwinter's fire.4A pleasant pagecrammed in the tumbler briefcasecarrying my life's thimble,rocketing towarda brilliant destinyall 4 seasonal planetsorchestrating mood;the patch quilt procupinequill emotion tapestryworking overtime likea fish hook thrubrain's inner eye, ocularhair shirt pulled onat warning's glanceto trigger the way I boil eggs;devour slivers of woodon learning another daykicks ass fromthe horizontal pillow.[68]

NAIAD TRANCEThe leaves on their trumpet flamesRichter scale inside pulse stems--into the gorge, la gorgethroat and creviceof the canyon arroyo.Walking the slitinto rheumatism earththe twilight painof Paleozoic ice,Jurassic Agewhence rupturesculpted rockRiver precipicethe afternoon dangling like shadowbeside taiga sunlost to dark & raintoward the water now,ever, and chemical rushing sound.Chameleon, I would swearthis journey was that,worse, sorceress on my emotions;I left pathways contoured with Merlin rock& trees like Babbitt refugeesfrom the Nahanni,fearful Dogrib aboriginalsswarming my imaginationtheir scalp-locks loaded for bear.Arabesque boulder,lavender curls of winter-wind swept moss andberets of tiny, dead soldiers. Themoisture betweenyou and clearing.Hushed forestan envelope edgeof moisture patterns,more leavesin reindeer formationasserting themselvesin beckoning sleighs andtrance of veined, elfin handskirting cracks & fissure gloom.[70]

The leaves on their trumpet flamesRichter scale inside pulse stems--into the gorge, la gorgethroat and creviceof the canyon arroyo.Walking the slitinto rheumatism earththe twilight painof Paleozoic ice,Jurassic Agewhence rupturesculpted rockRiver precipicethe afternoon dangling like shadowbeside taiga sunlost to dark & raintoward the water now,ever, and chemical rushing sound.Chameleon, I would swearthis journey was that,worse, sorceress on my emotions;I left pathways contoured with Merlin rock& trees like Babbitt refugeesfrom the Nahanni,fearful Dogrib aboriginalsswarming my imaginationtheir scalp-locks loaded for bear.Arabesque boulder,lavender curls of winter-wind swept moss andberets of tiny, dead soldiers. Themoisture betweenyou and clearing.Hushed forestan envelope edgeof moisture patterns,more leavesin reindeer formationasserting themselvesin beckoning sleighs andtrance of veined, elfin handskirting cracks & fissure gloom.[70]

PYROMANIAShe had a fireplace--the sexual kilnof her pyromaniacdesire,a brick embedded in heat,white hot coal to ember,her lust flaring red,soot to powderdark as charcoalsmear, a walkacross shimmering mirror.[72]

She had a fireplace--the sexual kilnof her pyromaniacdesire,a brick embedded in heat,white hot coal to ember,her lust flaring red,soot to powderdark as charcoalsmear, a walkacross shimmering mirror.[72]

TIDE CHARTSTo create dream--the pearl thru wine effect,oil and vinegar viscidityof giant salad leavesbasking on thebroken picnic tablelike so many lemurstaken to aMalagasy forest.Liverwurst on rye,cuff-links dragthe hard, mica table;so, why be afraid'cause spume from wavesglows upwardin so many trails ofgrey-laden smoke?This island looks like a loaf,a dot or mole on inviting cheeks,to me; so wary, invariably, of land(and perhaps the Sand Man)amongst all those wandering eyes,especially the sea-scape,curl of snakeilluminatedin a sudden, tropic shower.See the sudden bandanna of rocksqueezed so tight byshore's edge that agrim hammer of stonesintones a warning?Its back from the warsto dive, there, amongthreads of waterwhere needle eyes of littlefish ("young fry of treachery")are so scalpel-likedunes and eddiesof living colourshake you.To slake a thirst.For adventure.For precision.Try a lavender roll of watercurved in bite recessmuch as a conch's outer shelldons triple-ripple effect.Up the stakes. Skillets off themeandering edge are poundingundertows and riptides resembleporters in foreign airportswho simply smile. . .Purple dyeon white toga,water retches upon land.A necklace, this activity, in warm shallows.Consciousness raising--reef life cominginto contact with the bumper edge to freedom.Heavenly bodiesparry light from the moon,wrath from a deeper bellowscough up one handraised in silver mourning.[73]

To create dream--the pearl thru wine effect,oil and vinegar viscidityof giant salad leavesbasking on thebroken picnic tablelike so many lemurstaken to aMalagasy forest.Liverwurst on rye,cuff-links dragthe hard, mica table;so, why be afraid'cause spume from wavesglows upwardin so many trails ofgrey-laden smoke?This island looks like a loaf,a dot or mole on inviting cheeks,to me; so wary, invariably, of land(and perhaps the Sand Man)amongst all those wandering eyes,especially the sea-scape,curl of snakeilluminatedin a sudden, tropic shower.See the sudden bandanna of rocksqueezed so tight byshore's edge that agrim hammer of stonesintones a warning?Its back from the warsto dive, there, amongthreads of waterwhere needle eyes of littlefish ("young fry of treachery")are so scalpel-likedunes and eddiesof living colourshake you.To slake a thirst.For adventure.For precision.Try a lavender roll of watercurved in bite recessmuch as a conch's outer shelldons triple-ripple effect.Up the stakes. Skillets off themeandering edge are poundingundertows and riptides resembleporters in foreign airportswho simply smile. . .Purple dyeon white toga,water retches upon land.A necklace, this activity, in warm shallows.Consciousness raising--reef life cominginto contact with the bumper edge to freedom.Heavenly bodiesparry light from the moon,wrath from a deeper bellowscough up one handraised in silver mourning.[73]

VILLAGE IDIOTDodder capitulates on his bum,skulks under fence postsa twitch of Timothy weed pryingapart his massive lips.A strip of lavatory paperhis golden rule; themerrie lad bakes ready madesurprises to the jowled responseof his parting brains.The mastication of shoe laceson tired leather jerkins akinto grinding Michelin rubber--hisreedy voice in overbite hasterounding corners like a club-footeddog travelling edgewisefrom his master's sight.[75]

Dodder capitulates on his bum,skulks under fence postsa twitch of Timothy weed pryingapart his massive lips.A strip of lavatory paperhis golden rule; themerrie lad bakes ready madesurprises to the jowled responseof his parting brains.The mastication of shoe laceson tired leather jerkins akinto grinding Michelin rubber--hisreedy voice in overbite hasterounding corners like a club-footeddog travelling edgewisefrom his master's sight.[75]

CLIPPERSHIPPausing to seelight thru chinksthe corner doorbattered barn floormusty webs and pebbled faceexpect shadows fromflecked dust, yetdamsel flieswith doily edgeblanket the aira throaty radiancein angel hairand stepping stones tonearest creviceand laddering place.[76]

Pausing to seelight thru chinksthe corner doorbattered barn floormusty webs and pebbled faceexpect shadows fromflecked dust, yetdamsel flieswith doily edgeblanket the aira throaty radiancein angel hairand stepping stones tonearest creviceand laddering place.[76]

FLOODWhite ermine/white semen,green eyes jade from the night.Eternity falls in sparrow,an inch-worm downa pear-coloured leg,within this dropletlies coiled rapturesof a snake,anointed coilsmusky as in woolen handshakewhere tributaries turn into sockswrapped to the vertebrae claspof a teenager's leg.My fingers arefrying skilletsslow-boiling water, with precision,your rivers & chasms,a vagina white knuckle raftingacross your enchantment.[77]

White ermine/white semen,green eyes jade from the night.Eternity falls in sparrow,an inch-worm downa pear-coloured leg,within this dropletlies coiled rapturesof a snake,anointed coilsmusky as in woolen handshakewhere tributaries turn into sockswrapped to the vertebrae claspof a teenager's leg.My fingers arefrying skilletsslow-boiling water, with precision,your rivers & chasms,a vagina white knuckle raftingacross your enchantment.[77]

KIPPER, TEA AND ORANGESOur lives evaporating as we talk,flypaper from cosmic ceiling--We gather stardust,mnemonics, perhaps,re-arrangers of mystic twigsinto a pattern.Look to the sky,les nuages, l'ombreles arbres alla primavera"magnificio", said Iwith real relish &snap of ring-encrusted fingers,distant God, not quite Himself,behind a podium exiting the band shell.[78]

Our lives evaporating as we talk,flypaper from cosmic ceiling--We gather stardust,mnemonics, perhaps,re-arrangers of mystic twigsinto a pattern.Look to the sky,les nuages, l'ombreles arbres alla primavera"magnificio", said Iwith real relish &snap of ring-encrusted fingers,distant God, not quite Himself,behind a podium exiting the band shell.[78]

TANK-TOPI was playing sonatas on your skin--no beauty & the beast scenariothough the Tower pulchritude was intactwith enough purple agape grape leavesand ivy for a fig-leaved Evewith wind wet at the windows(and later the willows),where gravelly, cloven hooves became partyto my thoughts; for you,blessed with a triangular patch,--and something like strawberry--lay moist & woven into strict tapestrylike a mantle coveringabrupt oasis of skin(the better to peer in).I scaled the heightsnot castle vaults, mind you,but the elevator shaft and draw-bridge equivalentof a white charger--fierce visor in place--armour gleaming--a sabre rattling at my sidebe-jewelled & twinklingthe key clinkingthere, to corner distance(time & space)dragons to be dirked and slain.Fiery eye, forked tailsdonut-sized scalesplastered as a calendaror shingler might a tiled roof--the empty spellBellerophon spying his Lady in a belfryon driving home.[79]

I was playing sonatas on your skin--no beauty & the beast scenariothough the Tower pulchritude was intactwith enough purple agape grape leavesand ivy for a fig-leaved Evewith wind wet at the windows(and later the willows),where gravelly, cloven hooves became partyto my thoughts; for you,blessed with a triangular patch,--and something like strawberry--lay moist & woven into strict tapestrylike a mantle coveringabrupt oasis of skin(the better to peer in).I scaled the heightsnot castle vaults, mind you,but the elevator shaft and draw-bridge equivalentof a white charger--fierce visor in place--armour gleaming--a sabre rattling at my sidebe-jewelled & twinklingthe key clinkingthere, to corner distance(time & space)dragons to be dirked and slain.Fiery eye, forked tailsdonut-sized scalesplastered as a calendaror shingler might a tiled roof--the empty spellBellerophon spying his Lady in a belfryon driving home.[79]

VIEWER MAILThe sky wasa ringed net of honeyed light,(colours from peeled apples)funnelling cloud ...tumbler over dice(the carrot throatlemonade pie)twin coins in a fountainbrief lantern spark amidtwittering noise.The trees were awaiting giantsgathered to fumble about the rivernoiseless bridgeand, I, skyscraper mandangling a reflection,(afternoon tea)muddy meJimbob expressionwater angling for dirt.[80]

The sky wasa ringed net of honeyed light,(colours from peeled apples)funnelling cloud ...tumbler over dice(the carrot throatlemonade pie)twin coins in a fountainbrief lantern spark amidtwittering noise.The trees were awaiting giantsgathered to fumble about the rivernoiseless bridgeand, I, skyscraper mandangling a reflection,(afternoon tea)muddy meJimbob expressionwater angling for dirt.[80]

SeagullsForeword Page[81]

IMAGISTICThere in the cosmos--white dwarfs launch a black rooftopimagistic, clean as a pantry,the twilight roads with ledges leanlike raw openings.And coming upon starsin a country woodhouse--cold, big as frozen pears,each breath of light visiblethru chinks & clustersof broken ceiling wood;hands raw & nipped sawing logs--breath menacing the depthson inner space, something paleand profoundly suggestive.[82]

There in the cosmos--white dwarfs launch a black rooftopimagistic, clean as a pantry,the twilight roads with ledges leanlike raw openings.And coming upon starsin a country woodhouse--cold, big as frozen pears,each breath of light visiblethru chinks & clustersof broken ceiling wood;hands raw & nipped sawing logs--breath menacing the depthson inner space, something paleand profoundly suggestive.[82]

LIVING ROOMIf anatomy were a contact sport,the stomach would be a footballéstomac, hammocksagging . . . .the container of riotous livingpried loose.And the head--a barrel of nails,binder-twineunravelled into knots;the brain a cauliflowerfor flavouring,precious little else.Spare the heartits dagger pleasureinveighed from the start.[83]

If anatomy were a contact sport,the stomach would be a footballéstomac, hammocksagging . . . .the container of riotous livingpried loose.And the head--a barrel of nails,binder-twineunravelled into knots;the brain a cauliflowerfor flavouring,precious little else.Spare the heartits dagger pleasureinveighed from the start.[83]

HIGH ROLLER1Terrorism--left-wing nerd (twingrapefruits in his handgives it away)winging a stiletto shoe,spitting on an ashcanto bring up a bruise or two.2Visions are steadier--I see in the shimmerblue veins to target,a silhouette of the rich,fur wraps in their Bentleystime to bring up tar,kick ass in Knightsbridgewith my holiday bomb blast.3Bag snatching can be dangerouslet go if you don't want to bedragged over cobbles behind a Vespa.4The Harrod's sign, "please keepmoving" meant business.5Pretoria calls as does Manila.Later, perhaps, Jerusalem, Beirut,Rawalpindi.6Closer to home (I am of the Red Armyfaction) is the Bologna train station.7Counting hours downmy button line,three less thenpay-off, squeakily clean.8London seems indifferentto my destiny; even thetube buskers and streetiessee not a harbingerbut another shufflingcold-assed long hair.9The wired whisky bottlein the airport lockerwill make La Guardia look tothe Statue of Liberty for deliverance,10I'll send the Hotel Crillonso far up the Eiffelthey'll have to sandblastthe sky.11My mentorsspic 'n span boysno wild-eyed radicalswith socks that won't stay up,rather gumless wizardstaking Confederate rain,mainlining a littleto keep the nerves steady,orders direct from Moscowwith money laundered a bit,beats haphazard work andpetty contracts on local businessmen.12Cells (I like the word)master-mindco-ordinate and synchronizerevolutionary inter-cooperation.A swine in Munichis the same swinewithout his leather jerkinsin Santiago.13Brains coming aparton soles of shoesa pantheon of causes to choose,let's see, neo-revisionismcounter-revolutionarycriss-crosses withdegenerate bourgeoisecapitalist turncoat,(both must die)the urgency lies inwhich commands myholier dross.14Brothers in the struggleneed empathetic eyesto square offthe titanic quarrel.15Cleanse the body politic,reads one directive.Rub not ointment but horse radishover decomposed, societal skin,a brisk cleansing with your strigalbut one revolutionary application.16"De-stabilize", the latest buzz wordflies to the manure heapjust kick in the door--those planter's peanutsknow the score.17"Property is theft"I'm lisping in the burning sun,Ethiopia doneTigré and Eritreakey componentson the Horn's chessboard,mere human pastere-patched, re-worn.18Ditto, "take-out", liquidate.Run a new poker thru the rubble. A goodanarchist's cathedral accomplishmentis the chicken coop's destruction.19Make the rich pay.Squeeze the goose to the pips.All power to the people;a gun runis a good itch,works up a powerful thirstfor Justice;good mercy disguisedbrother Leninas a simple dock worker,the plague-bacillus quickens.20Orange filaments of smokeare better than the factory whistle,a good arsonist recruitshis own flames,fans his own fire.The crackle of desireover hearth stonesis reward enough in itself.[84]

1Terrorism--left-wing nerd (twingrapefruits in his handgives it away)winging a stiletto shoe,spitting on an ashcanto bring up a bruise or two.2Visions are steadier--I see in the shimmerblue veins to target,a silhouette of the rich,fur wraps in their Bentleystime to bring up tar,kick ass in Knightsbridgewith my holiday bomb blast.3Bag snatching can be dangerouslet go if you don't want to bedragged over cobbles behind a Vespa.4The Harrod's sign, "please keepmoving" meant business.5Pretoria calls as does Manila.Later, perhaps, Jerusalem, Beirut,Rawalpindi.6Closer to home (I am of the Red Armyfaction) is the Bologna train station.7Counting hours downmy button line,three less thenpay-off, squeakily clean.8London seems indifferentto my destiny; even thetube buskers and streetiessee not a harbingerbut another shufflingcold-assed long hair.9The wired whisky bottlein the airport lockerwill make La Guardia look tothe Statue of Liberty for deliverance,10I'll send the Hotel Crillonso far up the Eiffelthey'll have to sandblastthe sky.11My mentorsspic 'n span boysno wild-eyed radicalswith socks that won't stay up,rather gumless wizardstaking Confederate rain,mainlining a littleto keep the nerves steady,orders direct from Moscowwith money laundered a bit,beats haphazard work andpetty contracts on local businessmen.12Cells (I like the word)master-mindco-ordinate and synchronizerevolutionary inter-cooperation.A swine in Munichis the same swinewithout his leather jerkinsin Santiago.13Brains coming aparton soles of shoesa pantheon of causes to choose,let's see, neo-revisionismcounter-revolutionarycriss-crosses withdegenerate bourgeoisecapitalist turncoat,(both must die)the urgency lies inwhich commands myholier dross.14Brothers in the struggleneed empathetic eyesto square offthe titanic quarrel.15Cleanse the body politic,reads one directive.Rub not ointment but horse radishover decomposed, societal skin,a brisk cleansing with your strigalbut one revolutionary application.16"De-stabilize", the latest buzz wordflies to the manure heapjust kick in the door--those planter's peanutsknow the score.17"Property is theft"I'm lisping in the burning sun,Ethiopia doneTigré and Eritreakey componentson the Horn's chessboard,mere human pastere-patched, re-worn.18Ditto, "take-out", liquidate.Run a new poker thru the rubble. A goodanarchist's cathedral accomplishmentis the chicken coop's destruction.19Make the rich pay.Squeeze the goose to the pips.All power to the people;a gun runis a good itch,works up a powerful thirstfor Justice;good mercy disguisedbrother Leninas a simple dock worker,the plague-bacillus quickens.20Orange filaments of smokeare better than the factory whistle,a good arsonist recruitshis own flames,fans his own fire.The crackle of desireover hearth stonesis reward enough in itself.[84]

THE GARDENAnd like a cobbler at a benchI return to my musingswhy Kensington Gardenswith its grand, theatrical entranceis gateway to London's poor--why the stiff Victoria and Albertmonument or grand canopyto the Hemisphereshas a bison for the Americasor sultry elephant ofAsia fame(India being the brightestjewel in the Empress' crown);why other archetypal animals at their pleasureare carved in gleaming milk whitewhen the rich at theirleisure, to and fro,dine elegantly as tightbuds arranged on a stem.2I've not mentioned the poorcome to the Serpentinea little ways up in Hyde Parkonly to be chased outof Kensington at closing--the cobbler at his bench,croupier at Whites,the elephant as a hatchet beastrun amuckin the stellar poolof the eye's fixed poor.[88]

And like a cobbler at a benchI return to my musingswhy Kensington Gardenswith its grand, theatrical entranceis gateway to London's poor--why the stiff Victoria and Albertmonument or grand canopyto the Hemisphereshas a bison for the Americasor sultry elephant ofAsia fame(India being the brightestjewel in the Empress' crown);why other archetypal animals at their pleasureare carved in gleaming milk whitewhen the rich at theirleisure, to and fro,dine elegantly as tightbuds arranged on a stem.2I've not mentioned the poorcome to the Serpentinea little ways up in Hyde Parkonly to be chased outof Kensington at closing--the cobbler at his bench,croupier at Whites,the elephant as a hatchet beastrun amuckin the stellar poolof the eye's fixed poor.[88]

CANVASSINGAnd I thought of things,things that come in small clutches,tiny memories,thoughts evoking theapproach of time orfootsteps about to open graves.More things than the troubledsingle entities we attach to them;things marbled with the elasticity of rain,rumours of war, pitch black leaves in thebottom of a pond where the whelp of a dogtries to outrun night.[89]

And I thought of things,things that come in small clutches,tiny memories,thoughts evoking theapproach of time orfootsteps about to open graves.More things than the troubledsingle entities we attach to them;things marbled with the elasticity of rain,rumours of war, pitch black leaves in thebottom of a pond where the whelp of a dogtries to outrun night.[89]

COMMENTS...unrestrained, imaginative writing.Brown's magic is the vibrating universe,his sympathy is his ability to receive these vibrations.Sympathetic Magic captures the movement of life in its intervals--his poems resemble stopped actionphotographs from a film.THE TORONTO STAR...the poetry is fine... rewarding reading...Almost every poem in Sympathetic Magicboasts an admirable image or two.Brown can write, without a doubt.POETRY CANADA POESIE...wry humour.The poet revels in image and can use it well.Paul Cameron Brown is capable of interesting,even arresting work.CANADIAN BOOK REVIEW ANNUAL 1985Le voyage exotique devient parfois fantistique...Se plonger dans les pages de "Sympathetic Magic", c' estpartir pour un autre monde oil Paul Cameron Brownenvoute par les mots et les images.DIPLOMATIC OBSERVER[90]

...unrestrained, imaginative writing.Brown's magic is the vibrating universe,his sympathy is his ability to receive these vibrations.Sympathetic Magic captures the movement of life in its intervals--his poems resemble stopped actionphotographs from a film.THE TORONTO STAR...the poetry is fine... rewarding reading...Almost every poem in Sympathetic Magicboasts an admirable image or two.Brown can write, without a doubt.POETRY CANADA POESIE...wry humour.The poet revels in image and can use it well.Paul Cameron Brown is capable of interesting,even arresting work.CANADIAN BOOK REVIEW ANNUAL 1985Le voyage exotique devient parfois fantistique...Se plonger dans les pages de "Sympathetic Magic", c' estpartir pour un autre monde oil Paul Cameron Brownenvoute par les mots et les images.DIPLOMATIC OBSERVER[90]

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