Trace the taste back 
to anatomy. Hanging 
from tree branches, the 

domain splayed across 
the table in lines and now 
hereÕs the chance 

of a torn life, to 
re-arrange the facts until 
we find a malignant prototype 

that will yield love, as 
a net gain. These bushy tails 
sweep out a paper trail, leave 
 
track lines, pale green 
cheeks before a warm bile 
seeps out from the acids 
 
of a belly. So the foot-
steps are lost but they guide 
a direction, sure to produce sweat, 

irritated bowel movements, caution: contents 
may be habit forming. Some view 
you wouldnÕt believe. The silver 

of black lights, merely a cystic mass 
protruding through philology, our names, 
a greeting followed by sound, scalpel. 

A sheet stained breathless. 
The grip lost, hands 
line themselves with dry soap. 

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Copyright © 2005 by Calaveras Station and the CSUS English Department.