Winged

up

Simon

mymagician

whizzed byon
drivers'
glasses
adozenmoun
tainsfrom
Ju dea
highin

atree

reachedfor the
great towersof stone
built by
adozen
Aztecs
to
offerthem
asun
a
cold
wind
sunglares
hiding on MacchuPiccu
inthe un
found centuries
asun

forcars

tearinghearts

offpages

newwavefilms
of
flickeringbodies
slowly turned

flat brown

ontheirbacks

inthegrass

flatout
ona
backfloor