[return to Contents Page]
An accidental killing — so-called chronocide in the inadvertent eagerness
with which I tore a whole week from the word-a-day calendar.
Mass immolation of loan words and brand names, rare Aztec
birds and prehistoric tools on the altar of wordlessness.
A whole untranslatable passage swum
under with held breath.
to the waist of the hour-glass
No motion, neither Fasti nor Nefasti.
Undesignated days, without saints
or sanitation wavers. Nothing
takes the stand, nothing
given, delivered, awarded. Empty docks
and dockets. In the chainsaw intervals, a mortar of boredom.
stem of the wine glass broken off with the toast.