#399 Collage (1966) (2)

In the narrows the sun
wests. Alligators hotfeet it
for the nearest spa. The delta
stretches, rolls over onto
its back to burn its belly
& better hear the zydeco
band that bubbles by. We
spoke of foodchains, &
whether it was the
resumption of whaling
that had driven the cliff-
dwellers out of the pueblos.
He paused, pleasured by
a point he'd made, & pride
blind-sided him. The
peristaltic erudition of a
passing manatee swallowed
him up in easy pieces. Mean-
while the moon blooms
miserly in the yellows.