fig.34.90) formless, without reason or will like a slow moving thing They will be without limbs, for any mercy is hoarded. They shall last be seen tumbling on, over or down this mountain's languorous side. There will be phrases, scattered words to be gathered, which will help us find context or emphasis. There are pearls and nuggets that wait, or spilled from a much handled box. For now, there's a grievance coalition, so many old hens and apple cores using our allotment of coal mine canaries. They're always wearing walking shoes to the front of the line. Where they gather for haircuts, there's blood and ointment to spare. Where they've been for a beer there is a god already on hand, waiting to hear from the roar. For the state of their fantasy is slender and their desire to claim the world they've undun is golden. Here we are, right at the edge of the path and the chowder pots just keep on talking! The bilious filth of so many of them gathered on one spot is