FLOTSAM The pool is empty of all but blue and the reflection of a small boy who has been told hell exists for people like him � that sinful dollop of syrup stolen from the tin; He craves another, sweet and final. He cracks rocks against the anodyne blue but nothing caves in; The ripple that slips over the edge of the mapped universe remains only a ripple. He pours a litre of leaded petroleum where fish have slunk beneath a fresh tuft of jetstream but there�s no purl of protest. The pool offers no sanctuary, floats the fate of those who rise on death with glassy indifference. |