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I Know exactly what you mean, Josephine! The only thing I could gather from the Henri poem you quoted was something about how I was inebriated on fermented bris cheese, and that I didn't understand the dance of the encypted syllables in the golden logo on the helmet of the New Orleans Saints football team. And then he tells me to go fishing for bass on the Mississippi, or something! Go figure... What does he know about fly fishing? I don't think he knows a fucking thing, if you'll forgive my French. Because I've known Henry Gould in the virtual sense for a long time, and I had coffee once iwth him in La Paz, but I've never known him to run like a friggin' Parnassian, with his little ictus between his legs. Not since I kicked his (admittedly handsome) behind over questions of authorship over at the glub-glub subs-sub long ago, anyway. I also inteviewed him and thus played a small role in his future (and deserved, yawn, so what if he's a great poet) fame and inclusion in the Norton, so it kind of pisses me off, you know, that when I enlighten him as to the nature of his rhymes, making stunning analogy to the mathematical figure of a Klein bottle, well, anywya, I think you get my meaning. I wanted to win in my troubador battle with him, yes, for I'm a rooster, but not at the expense of embarrassing him into a kind of glossolalic patois! Gauwl! Kent _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com