• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 08


Cut and paste a simpler task
(Is that ctrl with x then v?)
than glue and place, as collagen,
the building blocks, wont everyone.

It’s sticker books our Benje likes,
the fun he has (I cannot watch)
in piling layered overlaps,
when I need fit congruent space –
created for an older lad.

The Lamb Tales given, I as six –
part grandpa’s plan, feed genius –
a book I treasured (he so pleased)
for golden script on cover, beige,
(not Elia, Illyria),
for how it looked, and that I owned.

At five was his collation hour,
salami, olives, foreign fare,
flicking through his mother’s scrap,
those dogs and cats, a story bored,
that high-rise screeching cock-a-too,
ribbed whippet (that plate, trembling yet?)
and dopey, that ‘ere floppy hound,
odd misplaced guest, wedding group,
behind a kennel, ladder prop.

Did indigestion harry guts,
the butler overfill her glass
to plan eccentric collage seen,



let fancy fly, more stranger set,
a mongrel type of pedigrees,
faces without a context scene?