(fragment)
Some say it starts where oil rules the market,
insider trading, smug, unwary. But no frame
no warped value captures this offence. No game,
but a body count. Iris has seen enough. One glimpse
From her window, the building plunged like a bucket down a well,
telephone withered, TV unblinking, no comfort from books.
Tad Richards "A vicious mole of nature."
The Old Mole Wm. Shakespeare, Hamlet
of the MoleNet Act I, Scene 4
http://pages.prodigy.net/tadrichards
----- Original Message -----
From: "Lawrence Upton" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, December 21, 2001 6:36 AM
Subject: Poem
> AND STILL WE RISE
>
> a lone
> singing bird
> sunrise
> one skim of light
> flows against ebony
> and rushes
> a slight touch
> a tiny push would start it
>
> I wake
> I hear the song
> more clearly
> dimension beyond my predication
>
> another voice begins to breathe its own song
>
> the bed smells
> clothes blown about and stranded
> my hands are full
> my face sticky as from blackberries and plums
>
> scents call quicker than logic tells
> as when you move before you have decided
> to protect to capture to respond
> we're predators in full liquidity
> covering the surface
>
> sea recollection cave siphoning
> prompting the bird to sing
> in a world that's broken
>
> translucent viscous fluid light
> whited out
>
> our albumen dried
> our yolk our yoke
>
> and still we rise and make it if we can
> nourished beyond endurance and half-starved
> shipwrecked on a desert
> whirled round in chaos
> fragments in a centrifuge
> the tide against our will and powerful
> pulled to the bottom every time
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