Saturday, December 31, 2011

Fantastic Structures

I am not structure     nor am I form
But if I was I would be      A Fantastic Structure

One could walk me sideways      and climb my stairs upside down

My windows would be glazed with      Crystals from deep Bavarian caves
My womb would hide secret doorways     and be open on holidays

My pantry is not shuttered but open      for all to see the bounty I hold 

Steeples and Minarets twist and bend with the wind and clash with cumulus
Fragrant muted paint of Neroli decorates my 
consecration of concentric love mirrors 
who spiral round Thelonious towers and 
many stairs of Mourning Dove feathers

No gendarme guard me as my shingle is hung with an
 "Always open for business" sign
 that speaks pidgin english to all passersby advising them inmost
that what they see is  verite

I am not structure     nor am I form
But if I was I would be      A Fantastic Structure

Friday, December 30, 2011


Dust falls
it falls everywhere
like snow in the forest
do you hear it?
silently it accumulates
patiently appearing
as if by magic
out of nowhere
then it begins its search
under chairs, behind bookcases
without foot steps
it creeps up and ensnares
hair: dog, cat hair, human hair
spider webs
skeletons of fantastic structures
I witness this
having also fallen
not able to move
with eyes slowly glazing over
slowly being covered
by the falling dust

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

nobody wins

What is this thing 

falling from the sky

a leaf to be turned

something new to lead me on

who gave this kindness          in a glance

and took it away
                            with silence

Friday, December 23, 2011


winter solstice
                      shortest day of the year

turn off all the lights

supper is buttermilk pancakes
bathed in vanilla scented candlelight 

go to sleep early and dream divine

Thursday, December 22, 2011


the depths of Dark Winter
any light is revered
the Sun is precious
life is precious
a rose, a candle
and a smile

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Winter Post

More Ducks than could be counted arrived via post
Dust colored and intent on destination
Meted out across the front of the card
They fly now in perpetuity across the mantle
Inside diminutive words of Christmas cheer

Outside the solitary pink rose resides
In the warm coastal winter of the wetlands
Through my window it communicates to me
And only to me as we are now allies —
Sisters waiting for Spring to arrive

Sunday, December 18, 2011

just kidding

They found the device in a cave on Triton one of the moons of Neptune. I call it a device but it’s really a computer, the most sophisticated computer ever devised, but devised by whom … ?

Engineers developed an interface, a keyboard and screen that allowed questions to be posed to it. Answers to the most difficult scientific problems were returned in the instant that the last key was struck. It wore out all the scientists who came with worried faces and left with the appearance of bliss. They finally stopped coming. No one could think of anything else to ask.

I watched all this. I was just the janitor, by the way. After a while I became bored and I set down the book I was reading. It had given me an idea. I approached and typed in “What is the answer to life, the universe, and everything?” and hit enter. I heard a something that sounded like a belch. The device whizzed and gurgled, and kept on making sounds like it was chewing on my question. Minutes went by, hours, days. I fell asleep, woke, fell asleep, on and on it worked. My beard grew and grew. When my hair started to fall out I got worried. I dozed again but was woken by the chiming of a bell. I looked at the screen. Gone was the screen saver of Barbarella in various alluring poses. The words on the screen printed out “The answer to life, the universe, and everything is 42.” The screen went blank and Barbarella reappeared. She turned and looked at me and said, “Just kidding!” then the screen went blank again. The device turned itself off and could not be restarted.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

The Peloponnesian War


With a Bang?
With a Whimper?
How does one face The Future?
Plans made and laid and paid,
The best of plans gone astray.
Hair piles up in the corner
Of the shower and you shiver
To think it is your own. Flit —
These thoughts down the drain.
Brave face skeets into the world
With fresh laundered raiment and tinkly
Bracelets. Little Louis Heels click
Across the Saltillo Tiles with purpose
And gentle might. Down the hall The
Peloponnesians are at it again, but no matter,
Whoever wins this war, they will need dauntless
Soldiers to carry the dead and mend the wounded.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

the future

He rang the bell three times
     then four
and three again
it was the sign.
everyone waited
pausing into the stillness
of the blue morning
no birds sang and
insects were still
only the close sounds,
breathing, hearts beating
then at the crest of the brown hill
came the creak of wagons
the dull thuds of oxen plodding
measuring the road towards the town
“they’re coming,” one boy spoke
admonishing eyes turned towards him
and he shut his now trembling mouth
eyes turned back to the road
waiting for their future to arrive.

Monday, December 12, 2011

Thricely Blest

Once Blest are ye
who have limits
Once Blest are ye
who have none

Twice Blest are ye
Who know their limits
Twice Blest are ye
Who do not

And Thricely Blest are ye
who overcome both

Friday, December 9, 2011


The metal double doors slam open into the cavernous room
thirty boys, thirteen year-olds charge out on to the floor
the goose flesh on their spindly legs
shorts and t-shirts stiff with dried sweat
worn again and again, seldom washed, the smell,
the squeak of running shoes
jocks and non-jocks
the ones running and those standing
arms around our middles to ward off the cold
a whistle and everyone starts to run up and down the floor
a sudden stop, turn around and run back
some boys seem to be able to keep this on forever
the rest of us are gasping after two rounds
the fit and the non-fit
some mouths smiling, others cannot be opened wide enough
there is not enough oxygen in this room to ease our torment
we hate this
another whistle and we’re divided into teams
balls magically appear
more running
balls bouncing passed then shot upwards
the hoops, the nets
most shots are missed then more running
the opposite direction
shouts of “here, here”
by now we’re bending over gasping
while others keep running and shouting
“how do they do that?”
now for the worst part
a whistle “off to the showers”
clothes come off, nakedness
the snickers, those with hair
and those without

Monday, December 5, 2011


Standing at the metal double door
You can see them lined up

The Oral Polio Vaccine (OPV) was developed in 1958 by Dr. Albert Sabin. Sabin attenuated the wild type poliovirus by passaging the virus in monkey kidney epithelial cells. Trivalent OPV is characterized in vivo by efficient growth properties in the intestinal tract, unaltered immunogenic properties with respect to wild type progenitors, and attenuated neurovirulence after experimental intraspinal injection into primates. This means that an individual immunized with trivalent OPV induces long-lasting (frequently life-long) protective immunity of the gastrointestinal tract to all known forms of poliovirus.

Little hands outstretched
For consecrated sugar cubes

A year later Dr. Alber Sabin worked on a live-virus polio vaccine. In 1961 the American Medical Association endorsed the use of Sabin's oral vaccine. Upon the adoption of the Sabin vaccine, everyone in America was called back for immunization.

Changelings now, free from
Disease that paralyzed limbs

 The Sabin oral polio vaccine was made with a live but weakened virus, which gives the advantage of passive immunity for large groups (i.e. because it is easily passed on through the oral fecal route in households, schoolrooms, etc., even if only a portion of the community is immunized, everyone eventually develops immunity).
They walk out of the Gymnasium
Into the world: Soldiers of Immunity

Friday, December 2, 2011

Unca Bulgie (Uncle Otto)

He stood before the easel
brush pausing
shifting his weight
one leg to the other
swaying on his crutches
shaking his head
something was not right
he struggled over to the model
adjusted her arm across her leg
then back to the easel
picked up his brush and started again

since he was a child
crutches and heavy braces
he said “I’ve measured every staircase
in every house that I lived”
Jonas Salk had come too late

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Betty Grable Legs

Sacha Tillier limps out of the trailer. Her neck is stuck in gear and she cant seem to remember which one, high or low. Her back aches and she knows her child sized bed will only hold up so long. In the dark of last night the sounds had scared her but when the apparitions appeared she closed her eyes and said, yes I am home. God wants me here.
She tidied up her camp stove and made some coffee, cowboy style. Drinking her first cup o joe with her leg propped up on the ancient sawed off tree was her usual morning starting point and the sameness while routine, gave her hope. Hope she will find some way to escape this place. Hope she was young enough to find another lover. She had been looking for escape for the past ten years. Every hidey hole turned up empty. No key to be found.
Making the best of it was her motto. She turned her face to the sun and ran her hand quickly down her withered leg. Dammit, she thought, I used to be known far and wide for my Betty Grable legs and now not even my confused raggedy ghosts wanted to look at them. A deep sigh seeped out from her, but as she was determined to be ever hopeful, she dreamt of better days for herself. She need only find the key and she would be free.

Friday, October 28, 2011

The Limp

There were eleven in all, three women and eight men. They all seemed unrelated. Some were tall others not so. Different ages, some overweight. A cross section of what, I couldn’t figure. But here’s the thing, they all limped. I turned and started to walk away from them. I picked up my pace but they were gaining on me. Why couldn’t I walk faster? It was then that I reached the gate. I turned to look back. They were almost up to me and they asked in unison, “Why are you still limping?” Sweating I turned and opened the gate. That was when I woke. The pain in my leg … the pain.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

The Dark

It is dark as I slip my way up the isle
sliding and sticking to the old linoleum
I see albino ankles and arthritic knees
(just keep grabbing onto the light)
as I look up it is there like a crack
in the darkness guiding me to someplace else
anyplace but here will do
why am I here—how can I get free

Someone cranks their leg out
I slide back a few paces and land next to
a naked lady who is suffocating from the fumes
another lady who is scantily dressed laughs at us
I abandon them both and continue to go up
and am now covered in the sticky sickeningly sweet
fluid that continues to flow down the isle
will it never end—how can I get free

From just outside the door I see him
blood red and dressed to kill
he waves to me and I make a final jump
out of the dark and the things that cling to me
(bits of bad thoughts and fragments of love carcasses)
dry up and fall off of me onto the sidewalk
I take his hand and we walk for miles into sunshine
Reddleman blazes singsongy: Free from one is slave to another

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Saturday Matinee

Mother gave us each a quarter for the show
       and a dime for some treat
my favorite was milk duds
my sisters and I walked about a mile to the theater
serial episodes, Rin Tin Tin or Flash Gordon
we followed them each week
my sisters were older so I walked home alone
it had something to do with boys
I didn’t understand what that was all about.
but it truly disturbed me
not so much about the boys
it meant I had to walk alone
alone past that house
set back off the street
dark shadows, dingy windows
rumors, gruesome stories  
I whistled, looked straight ahead
and thought of Ming the Merciless

Thursday, October 20, 2011


In 1964 I was 6 years old
somehow I found myself
in the movie theater

A large screen with wild images
What is going on?

The image of           The Woman in Gold
has stayed with me

shocked at 6
mystified now
                                The Golden Goddess
it stays in the recesses of my mind
So yes I do remember.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Sticky Floor

Do you remember?
I remember it every time
   I step on a sticky floor in the theater
it was a French film – Eric Rohmer
as near as I could tell
it was about paint drying
I couldn’t understand French
and the subtitles were just confusing
we sat in the back row – murky shadows
and we kissed, it was called necking in those days
kissed until our lips became numb
legs in pretzels
spilled popcorn
and, oh yes, my foot kicking your Coke
the sticky fluid running down
through the rows

Monday, October 17, 2011

Banana Split

Jab it
Poke it
Tear it
Rip it
Cut it
Slice it
Break it
or of course
you can
Split it

It all has the same ending
Banana Split

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Banana peel

Peeling a banana
everyone has their own theory about this
I for one follow this procedure every time
jab my thumb nail in the base of the stem
then break its neck by pushing backwards
the separation is clean
then peel downwards each section
but not quite all the way
if any veins are left peel them too
grab the fruit and break it free from the tip.
Then there are the others
the ones that favor a sharp knife
it’s faster but of course more brutal.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Banana Seat

Greg straddles the Banana Seat
Suzy is pressed against the Sissy Bar
I squeeze into the Butterfly handle bars

We rode into the plum scented early evening
Far and Fast we screamed and ranged
Away from our homes
And all the attendant problems

Fearless, sailing past orchards and
Japanese green houses, skimming around
Elementary schools with cement play yards,
Teasing mysterious homes occupied by
Earthbound Ghosts of World War I

It all made sense
Way before the Treaty of Versailles
We children had made peace with our world
Lived in it completely 
and accepted all its weirding ways 

Tuesday, October 11, 2011


Whoosh – the peloton rounds the curve to the left
the air opening and closing around the group of cyclists
like a huge flock of birds or a school of small fish
all turn at the same moment
then whoosh, whoosh, single riders  
two lost souls struggle to catch up
I stand and watch
an astronomer peering at some distant galaxy
trying to make sense of it all.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Penny Farthing

These two sides exist encased in each other
Don't ever take one more serious than the other
To always have a smile is false and belies the truth
Remember: Buddha is an ideal not a man and he too trod dark paths

Why this fear of the dark? This fear of the light?
Both are human — both are God given — both have a place on earth

My brother tells me every face I see is my own!
We are merely reflections of each other
He channels all the light to cover his dark
The police know where He lives and visit with firm reprimands

As He climbs his high wheeled Penny Farthing
Dons his Out of Africa Hat — He pedals firmly away
Without even a glance over his shoulder
Where behind him stand The Women .... Disturbed and Devastated
Left to sweep all his Sub-Rosa Dark
under a carpet of Frail Gossamer Light
With the forgetting wind at his face He smiles and rides on

Thursday, October 6, 2011


We stand on the shoulders
of giants and dwarves and
those others we call normal
in other words we didn’t get here alone,
he didn’t get here alone
those we love, those we don’t much care for
they are us, we are their face

I hold up my iPad
and someone uses it to slice cheese

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Santa Cruz and Pain

And Santa Cruz is a kind of a Death with needles that prick your flayed skin
and light up the map with electric red dots that mark all the places you have tried
and gotten no where.
The sun never shines and all the women have iron in their hearts even at the bar after drinks you think you have a friend the next time you see them they ignore you.
The sun never shines and all the men dress like boys in short pants from the Victorian era with sun aged skin covered in tattoos of Micky Mouse and death.
They like each other way more than women and spend hours on the internet looking for herbs to cure impotency.
And Santa Cruz is too cool and they gotta keep it weird and there is so much pressure with that as you  gotta look the same and all be weird cuz weirdos rule and cool people rock and normal is bad and the sun never shines and opiates sprout from babies mouths so mama wont be in a bad mood or for gods sake normal, please not normal.
And Santa Cruz is a pain and a kind of a death for a lady that likes sunshine and tea with girlfriends and men who look like men.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

The most normal thing in the world

Someone is shaking me awake
my groggy eyes look down the bed
sometime in the night they moved
     my bed to somewhere in Cambodia
this tiny woman wants to take my vitals
   blood pressure, temperature, O2 saturation.
I rebuild my confidence in the day
oh yeah, Santa Cruz and pain
she straightens my covers
“what’s this” she asks
then she pulls a full urine bottle
from between my legs
slept all night with that there
“didn’t spill a drop” she says, with a smile, as if it was
    most normal thing in the world.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011


Sleep until the sun shuts down the night
with baby like eyes turn to the velvet dark
roll back the years and be still
while magicians plow your future

All the What Ifs are in a box
to be taken to sea and set adrift
with the other What Ifs and Happenstance
the dispensary is now closed to thoughts

When you awaken and shake the vaporous sand
off your bed and take the first wooly step
look careful to joy and inquisitive natures
as the salmagundi has now been served

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Feathers and Buttons

The Princess of Feathers, given that name by her father because of her delicate curved eye lashes, reached across the table to her brother. They hooked their little fingers, as they had always done with each other in this fashion, since before they could remember. They had speculated that it had been so even in the womb for they were the closest of twins. He was called the Prince of Buttons, also by their father, because he favored hard things that joined the un-joinable.

Down the table was Harriet who was just finishing the last notes of her song about wallpaper. In her lap she held her pet echidna, Doris, who like to blow bubbles. It snuffled and tried to borough deeper into her lap. Next to her was her husband Arnold, not Arnie, it was not allowed to call him anything but Arnold. However Uncle Arnold was allowed, but just for them. He was a bartender by profession with the requisite bulbous red nose.

At the opposite end of the table sat the children’s mother, Morris. Morris and their father had hired a woman to bear them a child. To keep things from getting confused, their father and Morris had decided which roles they that would play. Father was not there, of course, because this was his wake.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Holy Underwear

Laying side by side
virginal, encased in
The Holy Underwear

Pinky fingers
lightly touch
then retract
like a tidepool
this dance
goes on all night

In the morning
as they get up
to face the elders
The Holy Underwear
( they discover )
has disappeared

Thursday, September 15, 2011

the laundromat

A face is looking out at me from inside the dryer. I look around the laundromat to see if anyone else might find this a tiny bit odd. The only things that seem to be of interest are holy underwear, missing socks, and stained sheets. That’s when I notice the little girl standing next to me, fluffy hair, white dress, long white stockings, and white shoes. She says to me, “She wants you to be quiet,” pointing to the face in the dryer. I look back, blink hard, stumble backwards and fall out of bed.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011


Ham and Cheese?
Ham and Cheese?
What about Green Eggs and Ham?
Or Ham on Rye?
So and so is really a ham?
Ham and Cheese?
There is a Japanese Ham Sandwich pose in Bikram Yoga.
It hurts and I hate doing it, but I do it.
We have ham on Thanksgiving.
I worked in a Ham factory. Now that I really did.
But Ham and Cheese?
Ok, here then, here is my response to Ham and Cheese:

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Ham and Cheese

“Come here and look at this.” Muriel shouted. She was definitely peeved about something. I swallowed hard as I approached her desk. “Look at this, can you believe this, someone has put what looks like a ham and cheese sandwich in my shredder and then added a pickle.” “It IS your favorite lunch.“ I added. She did not appreciate that at all. I crept further into dangerous territory, “maybe it slipped off your desk. Is there a diet coke in there and chips?” She picked some of the slobbery mess and flung it at me. I anticipated this and ducked. Gladys who was standing behind me didn’t. She shrieked and soon the whole office came over to see the disaster, all except Arnold who sat at his desk, his back to all this. His chest heaved in spasms of silent laughter.

Monday, September 12, 2011

degradation of memories

Standing in the Big Box sliding memories into the grey plastic machine
It is kindly and tries to treat me well
When it eats one it is usually a monument I want to forget

The machine will collate, replicate, index and transmutate
My memories into bits and then back into light
Disseminate them onto disks that will store and protect

What will not be taken into account
Is how the degradation of memories will still occur
Until someday my grandchild will look at a picture of me holding her
And ask: Who is that?

Friday, September 9, 2011

the envelope

The table top was covered with photos
he held up one to the light
examined it closely
passed it to his sister
their mother smiling slightly
then their father trying to be formal
then their mother and father together
no smiles in that one
just 4 by 6 pieces of paper
but more like spoons
stirring the pot of forgetfulness
he turned and looked at her
she nodded
they stuffed them back into the envelope.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

wee wee wee all the way home

when I went to ask him
who loved you as a child
his back was already to me

heart black
genetics pressed in on him
a blanket of coal
to warm him frigid

"momma did"
mementos arrive quickly
flicker older brain cells
that rush together with
pictures of stained glass hugs

he is agile yet aged
pretends the neglect
is tolerable and normal
for the times

when he thinks of love
it is empty as empty
as the old trinket box
he keeps on his shelf

Sunday, September 4, 2011


Deddi, deddi, there’s a popcorn cart
Oh deddi, can we please have some!
it smells so wonderful, deddi
we haven’t had any popcorn in a so very long time
oh deddi, please, please, I promise to be good
can you turn around, please, please,
he looked at me as he started to turn around
and said, OK we’ll drive by again, slowly this time 
then you can have a really good smell

Saturday, September 3, 2011

sep sep

ba deddy sep sep

ing cong gooly sep sep

ba deddy sep sep

siskel & ebert

sep sep

ba deddy sep sep


sep sep

Friday, September 2, 2011


He leaned across the table to whisper in her ear, “Let’s stop this talk of drawers” She gasped. Her quick inhale told him that maybe he went too far. As much as he cared for her, he really didn’t want talk about her drawers. The artifacts of her life were too messy, too unorganized. He liked neat, tidy. This was all too much for him. His well ordered life made him feel comfortable. But then, what was it about this woman that stirred something in him? His heart beat a little too fast. His breathing was shallow, spasmodic. He drew back and stirred his coffee, anything to cool the conversation.

A single tear made its way down her cheek. When it reached her lips, her tongue darted out to drink in her sadness. She wanted to leap up and run for the door. No, she decided, she would not let him go so easily. She said, “But, I want you in my drawers. I want you to organize me,”  with such ferocity that he leaned back in his chair. The gale force of her desire tilted him backwards. Gravity took over and he fell to the floor.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Junk Drawer

My Junk drawer is full of crap
I mean some real god damn crap
it serves no purpose except
to aggravate me to extremes
up and down go my emotions
and my junk drawer quietly wins
It is on a high as high as Mt Shasta
corralling all my crap so expertly
and leaving me with nothing but
all the other stuff in my house
Loneliness pulls the skin from
my bones when I think of all
the crap I am missing out on
shut the drawer dammit
shut the drawer

yes that really is my junk drawer and my crap

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

detritus of our lives

He slid it open with some difficulty
every kitchen has one, the junk drawer
the detritus of our lives
useless bits of string, too short
rusting paper clips
rubber bands that crumble when touched
pins that once held a new shirt in its wrapper
an instruction book on how to operate a toaster?
who would need instructions for that?
the toaster itself long gone
little black pellets whose origin
he did not want to contemplate
            “antiques road show”? no!
and there among the clumps of dust and sesame seeds
what he was looking for
a gold ring

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

In the drawer

In the drawer
it lies
no pretense to greatness
just a mass of hair
long with a band
still keeping it secured
after 20 years
and it still
glows with purpose

Once it fell across
her breast or lashed
her thighs delightful
now stilled — yet alive
who touches it now
what imagination
can bring you back to life
who knows a part of you
patiently lives in my drawer

Friday, August 26, 2011

the bow tie

I woke in the red morning
to yellow shafts of thoughts
ricocheting off the walls of my skull
bouncing and colliding
like on an unstable billiard table
it was carried on a driving 4-4 beat
the bass player and drummer
vying for dominance
off to the right a lean man
dressed in a white shirt, suspenders
and a bow-tie smiled
as if this all made sense
and seemed to be waiting for me to get it.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

The X Factor

She was called the "IT Girl"
A Real Jazz Baby
Silent Film Mega Star
A True Beauty

New York 1922 was the place for films
When it shifted to the West Coast
Bow followed
Her first part was a Vivacious Audacious Flapper
It set her career aflame

Her brief 10 years in celluloid
Produced over 60 silent films
The Plastic Age
Dancing Mothers
Daughter of Pleasure
Most of these have been lost or destroyed

Oh but those kisses she gave!
They send still a primal thrill
Lustful Deep
I could watch a film of just her kisses

She quit films when sound came in
Clara Bow did not like the confines of sound
She preferred to emote without the bother of words.
The X Factor aint got nuthin on her

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

eggs marks the spot

She stood there with X in her hands
X on her mind
X for Breakfast
Scrambled X
Poached X
X sunny side up
Walking on X shells
What am I X actly talking about here
Rotten X?

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Last egg laid

As I sit here pondering
my ability
to be here and now
with any type 
of creativity

There is only 

one thought


The last egg laid was by me

Thursday, August 18, 2011

a drawing and a memory

this is the view from out of our kitchen window
there’s the barn with hay piled high to the rafters
those cows, a society of steaming breaths
a great sycamore next to the ancient chicken house,
too well built to be called a coop
its inside walls peeling successive coats of whitewash
and that smell which lingers even after
the twenty years since the last egg was laid.
all this is a memory
a memory evoked by that framed drawing
hanging on the wall beside my chair

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

The Photograph

It wasn't a fire – It was a flood – Felt like a fire
What to take? What could he take?
Pictures? Clothes?

Hurry the water is almost to your door.
Medicine? Important Papers?

He was an old man. His house was full of things.
They told him his ticker was bad.
Guns? Food?

His wife was dead. His children had disowned him –
all five of them.
Neighbors fled at the sight of him.
Cash? Coin Collection?

In the end he took one thing and one thing only,
a framed photograph that had been hanging in
the same spot for 65 years.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

House Fire

the day that the house burned down
neighbors watched and nodded
children jumped up and down
teenagers cheered from the sidelines
firemen rolled up their hoses
and offered their theories
but it soon became clear
that if two bodies rub together
with that much fury it creates heat
heat enough to burn the house down
but in the end all that was left was
cold ashes