-- for Drew                                

that which doesn't kill you, almost kills you

lying seething at the edge of the frame, close to the boil, empurpled

the abjurate -- prevailing, the unfit

what is just not available any longer, irrespective of price

understandably. Spot on. A festering that denotes little apparent progress. An eschaton,

bedeviled. Narrowing in on

at that tertiary depot where we attempted to present all this as a colorable benefit:

repatriating the unwilling, now neatly attired in their objections, each encircled by a slick

of not-unnatural premonition. Amidst them a frank perisher, like a symptom of thrush

the awkward bits, ultimately papered over by a condominium between the two parties.

Dividing it all up, like a former coaling station

veritable adventurism, reckless rescheduling

the better and the much better

a sally into so-called 'base articulation'

a hollowed-out mountain

insisting, caning, treed, floored, hap, ail, unassailable

Empty exhortations, like rubbishy patronymics, heaped upon the cold table -- all we ever

heard from that quarter

in the hermit borough, home to a certain long-thought-lost-species, a city-state of

dissimulation rises up as if overnight, teeming with suspect notables

chapels of collision-partners

-- like aids to mariners. Triangulating by means of eyesores

the crushing overhead, the flat file appearing at the bar, the bulleted notation with one's

name inscribed. The express instruction. That one there

rationing what used to be apportioned

in this fore-noon, this darkened chamber

what the hosts of the becalmed have decided to set before us