Hello Grassy. Well this is full of wonderful imagery and language but it was 
too confusing for me I am afraid.  I think it is very clever and you must 
have a wonderful imagination but unfortunatly it did not do much for me. 
Perhaps I am getting lazy and don't want to work too hard these days. I 
don't know.But thanks for the read. It is so quiet these days on the list 
perhaps everyone is out in the garden. and enjoying the sun. Best wishes 
Sally


>From: grasshopper <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New sub: The Alchemist's Omelette
>Date: Sat, 6 May 2006 01:27:45 +0100
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>The Alchemist's
>Omelette
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>If he traces
>three more arcs, he will make a cat--
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>not a common striped creature like Arnolfini's
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>ginger tom--but an incandescent beast
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>with onyx eyes.
>Nim pauses, his horn-nib suspended
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>over the page, then inscribes two arcs
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>at the proper declension.The third curve tries
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>to draw itself.
>He hears the thin hiss as it sucks
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>at the Chinese ink, and then it crouches,
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>frustrated and invisible, a long quiver
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>in the air
>waiting for a weight of colour.
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>Around Nim, flickers prowl and growl
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>in unfinished flourishes, designs and devices
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>all requiring
>just one more touch suddenly
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>to be, to leap from some tangled dimension
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>into the simple now. If he closes his eyes
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>he can see
>scattered points of light.
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>They burrow beneath his lids and prickle
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>against the skin of his sight. He knows
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>eyes peel like
>onions, burst like ripe grapes.
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>Space, busy with nearly-but-not-quite,
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>presses around him with an undercurrent
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>of insect
>vibration. The sound grows louder,
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>breaks, concentrates into a small beat, tac
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>tac, the eggtooth of an unhatched chick
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>trying to crack
>its shell. The egg, that symbol
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>of perfection, which hangs above Piero's Madonna.
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>He curls his fingers around the smooth, cool concept
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>and smells
>incense. Once you are, he whispers,
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>you will die. Time has stronger magic than mine.
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>Without the last stroke, you have Forever.
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>The unpersuaded
>air tensions between chair and chair,
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>chair and table, like cittern strings. His mouth becomes
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>the hole in a sound-box, rounded by surprise
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>as four claws
>rip through incompletion like knives
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>through a curtain. A woman, with long chestnut hair
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>and skin as blue as gentian bells, is the first.
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>She leads a great lynx on a golden cord.
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>     M.A,Griffiths
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