--- H E R M A N   B E A V E R S

We could natter about the thick sludge of 
recollection, the tuneless scratch of methodical 
ghosts, how all our yesterdays flex muscles as dark 
and striated as nimbus clouds.    The cool & 
brilliant among us might suffocate but for their 
present circle of friends.  They know every 
sentence has a diagram, a gist we might ascertain 
if only we could beam sense through this static of 
ruined terracotta.  Soft shadows at dusk muscle the 
eye toward the most concrete of judgments.   You 
have the luxury of being able to pick a face out of 
this assembly, just outside Kankakee, IL. community 
of the like-minded,  a place where children's names 
come out of the Bible, never to return. They know 
abuse can be soft as rose petals or a brick just 
shy of an eye.   And somewhere men who sleep in 
motels, bedclothes unmussed, fold over a page in 
the book of narcissism, groping for the backside of 
a moan.