I cling to the barbs of night, jaded and unusual...peculiar symbols sloshing through my mind. I see their meanings dressed in their syllable cloaks…tiny picture shows tinctured with phonics. This word stream that flits beneath my brow like a severed snake, the head, the tail….where to begin? Where to end? I fail to speak only because my alignment seems wrong. The tunnels progress to each other. The labyrinth dies in the middle. And my finely dressed dancers weave about their passageways in their sadly hopeful movements…all those windows wasted on eyes, wasted immeasurably, and the doors on the sills of night.