Biding my time drawing circles in the air. Scratching my teeth with a safety pin. Alto saxes still played in my head, bad, bad tunes. Trying to get out of that place.

        Doors open precariously, and I walk out. Fife corps finish. I was relieved, or perhaps pleased. Burnished wood door hiding a torn screen, lacquer glass table tops were the proof of riches. With that, one had it all, the central air blasted too cold. I got high on it. The curves of my ear bled from unknowingly picking on it. My face shone bright red.

        Behind a doorstop I placed everyone's pictures. A good luck charm that runs in the family. Filling in the black color to the holes. I carved a totem pole including everyone's face on it. Featured faces were painted conspicuously for matters of articulation. Demons were having a sale anyway. My face needed re-doing.

        Dressing up the naked room called for consultations with household mice. Picking plenty at the clock's hands. Doing up a centinal idea to blow away the dust. Shoots, guns, valleys, targets. Nearby a house. Shoots a man or a gun. Blast them out and flame them away. No good for society. They aren't. Drive them out. Put a tax on their lives. Scare the hell out of them so they'll go. The rims freak off. Borders fall.

        Masks fool.

        Catch a plane. Leave a land lost by pioneers. See hope on a planet. Swirls of water tiding over the cliffs. Balls wondering why. Left from sandy play before. A mound of sand collapsed and washed into the sea. Closing in. Too far.

RIVER BED   35