At the edge of the pond the search party sent up flares
when the dark returned the screams began
which echoed till dawn
the sound of worms
coming after the sound of time
gleaming in magic lungs of whirling spokes
and flaming idiot reverends of old moss formed

Objectivity waddled and cracked in the icebucket
perfect mystique of cantilevers
I was sitting on the couch in my rope suit
a bottled ape
the lawyers proved it

and then the American Psychological Association arrived
on burros
with a picnic lunch
and a child bound and gagged
on the back of a sphinx.