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Okay okay, I confess, I haven't a clue about what ive been saying all along, but, wasn't it exciting though?! I wrote the following poem today as a result of all our wonderful discussions. It's a piece of a longer thing im working on and with much work, i hope to publish it. (if it has merit) ----- In the moon-time I could hear the silver bells chiming this air thick with expedience slimy lime and old donuts these old cupboards surrounded by at least eight walls the space inside was thick and dense quieter and more conscious than an empty steel bucket in the underground cellar (as ashes clung to the corners) and white light kept painting the little windows (in some brittle sense, it was all more real than dreaming the bells kept coming closer, closer to the source of the accident closer to the sense o what keeps happening in the unseen chambers the empty rooms and positively vacant windows where what was supposed to happen evidently fails to appear for no one there where views of the street below are continually offered in exchange for a little order a little thought that seizes incidence makes memory chases potential somewhere else