'Dawn' & 'Written in Rain'
Callimachean Distich
One can die from anything, from Werther to the Phaedo...
The Wall in Iraq
The deepest past’s mere meters down...
Bucolic III
Gentle, the fields, slowly, eating the bones,/Blood drinking, men upon them, new, compete,/Goat bone, sheep blood too, gently now and slow...
Bucolic II
the wand of sage Wergilius/turns many a magic trick...
The Death of Virgil
Phoebus descends on Megara, beats down/the crops with his coming...
For God and Crusty
What can the nationalist reply/When reptile naturalists imply/That even mighty Urland’s glory,/Like a mite, is transitory?...
Psychebabble (or, When I die I want to be made into a nice chest of drawers; or, There’s no man speaks better Latin)
Nothing is speaking to human consciousness...
nos patriam fugimus
red cherub on the shore/sea shore grave yard...
Bucolic I
Tityrus lounges in the shade,/Bees lullaby the sleepy glade,/The reed sings soft, soft as the grass—/Then Meliboeus comes to pass...
