Tuesday, April 27, 2004


Masses displaced. There
somebodies always on

the move. To manipulate today’s headline
means taking up that smell refugee-en masse smell. Taking it

up. Enough is feed to children.
Fix the boy’s bike lights on. Screw. Screw. Every-

    needs a place. Sending the one-eyed
hooked bully to hell, thinking it
may well get me a fatwa

smell which can never quite be encapsulated.
A crowd I join. I

turn away. Cook. I
never read recipes. My hands’ resort flour. A factoid may reconcile Ishmael and Isaac.

Blood blooms from foetid to umbilical
in my hope womb. Turn. Spit and patter down. There –

a strange trig. to the Trintity
is. Makes numbers nonsense.

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