Tomai Salamun
EPISTLE TO THE ANGRY ONES
My brain is a butterfly, a soft precious material
a transparent silk. Swinging your clubs can
really damage it, or at least, destroy my day.
Can you imagine a butterfly, which gets worn out
by the strategy of armored units by holding back
a beast as furious as Professor Ziherl, whom I love
in
principle. Every lost pulsation is a sin, every
lost chance to rest on a blossom is a classic example
of social pathology. My brain is the universe, wider
than blue. It kindly watches the white sharks tiring
themselves out in the seaweed because the Lord gave every
tiny animal the right to eat. It's miles and miles
between the seaweed and the phoenix. The white shark
is not even a dolphin which could snare ordinary flying
fish
in
its lovely arc. This man will die sad and
hungry ifhe chooses from such an impossible menu.
Wong
May
MR. DOBSON
&
THE AFTER-LIFE OF CARNATIONS
If
there are secrets
Aman can keep apart from Death
he believes
in
them. From the Florist's dump
of rotting ferns
&
tall
boxes marked "Holland"
he picked carnations, discreetly
carnations
