August 1, 1992, 4am #1 The Jabberwock is crushed splintered splashed across the scene. But like all dream monsters he will return. In your dreams nothing dies. The ecology of dreams demands this. In the world my father and mother died. But I don't know the world I only know my thoughts and they come from dreams: My father, Here on a winter day in old clothes and a hat, and an open gentle smile glowing warm against the cold. My mother, here too, always sharp and eager to test her wit with mine and find out what I've learned. But when I stand at their grave, feel the wind and see the mud and the fallen leaves, the tears will come. #2 In words sound and meaning combine collide and meander like a saxaphone and bass Sometimes one, sometimes the other sometimes both sometimes silence, the voice that's always there.