The vertical lines of the bar graph, resembled the silhouette
of a city at night,
the unequal slices of a pie chart, are colored like Blackpool rock.
(he remembers childhood summers of candy floss, bumpy slides and helter skelters,
a faint taste of salt on his tongue, blown in by a sea-breeze haze
cross wind longshore drift
leaving him shivering like a fish.
An afterthought
to pass some time:
he dreams of positions and battle lines
drawn in the sand with a broken twig,

And on the every street there is always a house where children are warned not to go

A stitch in time saves nine as
stitch after stitch we sew the night closed before the
stars come out to spell her name, and the expanse overhead is clear
Save for a red eye flight
suspended in the reflected light of the moon,
where yesterday a rocket exploded throwing up
a cloud of dust,
Mormon rain,

And he watches the graphs,
doughnuts, scatter and lines, ratios and percentages,
meaningless figures, just lined up like soldiers ready for war,

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