I am a passage tonight to the rhythms of crabs… I sit buttock-deep on this hearth to steam the whirlwind of my eyes…
One says to the other my odour first, disorder slays the holding halo… crested eloquences, calling in no turn crush the larynx of pen– lights summate to break the bank of hell… [...]
There he bent, blobbing on the Legend Like the languid rhythm of fading balls of rain– For he would not heed this undissected, for he would not– So he plucked the maps seated deep [...]