from the long poem somewhere...


we never step outside the portals

Now if a six
turn out to be nine
I don't mind
Let's play pick-up-sticks,

kids – bones.
Because it's really
early-late, see. And
I'm no yesman

or gnomon –
I'm a soul man.
(Not really certain,

Here's the black
bare cueball.
Duck. Rabbit.
Here's the trick:

square two thumbers
like so, behind a curtain
and then wave your ten
clay beachcombers...

gradually... See?
It's a live butterfly!
It's a handmade moth!
Will you marry me?

I'm only ten.
I'm eleven.
I'm Hen –
I'm your cousin!


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