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Sonnet Ending with Epigram of Oscar Wilde A good beauty is a thing of index. Webs of lies spun from the intricacies of conflictual discourse. Deserted streets waiting, as always, for some bus to pass on its way to Paradoxical Paradigm Mall. Voiceless journeys beginning with a single mis- step--ending? . . . well, maybe never. Microbes from outer space cross into our country without so much as a pause for customs and immigration. Clichés of birth--the blood, the spank, the yowl. Asian Hasids, praying at the Whaling Wall, half in love with oil depletion allowances. Gnarled, arthritic hands on the levers of power: the usual. To arrive at what one truly believes, one must speak through lips different from one's own. Hal Halvard Johnson ================ [log in to unmask] http://home.earthlink.net/~halvard/index.html http://entropyandme.blogspot.com http://imageswithoutwords.blogspot.com http://www.hamiltonstone.org http://home.earthlink.net/~halvard/vidalocabooks.html