* * *

(as you go into Seir or Ives)

once worlds were small as battleships or nine dozen ballfields enough to be perfect

but a number of things now go wrong mysterious expectation with the worlds merged no god-like power that we can conceive

we see in front ahead and why not be there

while math is quite the bag of a half nonillion tricks

so Goya went mad in the end something like Swift how things pass go on

one colored eye one black and white history's a map no time

there are black places nothing stopped...

dead forgotten flags