. .	BUILDINGS AND GROUNDS whenever I finally get to withdraw from one more greeting or smiles like teeth I'm surrounded by member of a faculty meeting at a faculty meeting, discussing music programming for mutes or buildings and grounds, from which I withdraw setting up what's needed, what should be done. There's this tiny ant on my notetaking paper covered by my doodles of macrocephalic gym teachers. I keep her to myself.                                   She is small and quick, moving just for me. Her tiny closeness unnerves me I'm concentrating on her so, as during the exercises with the flag on Monday morning assemblies I imagine famished bloodworms at work on the red stripes, appeasing their appetites slightly to prepare for a sacred feast during the reading of monotheistic messages.                                                                             They help out; without their gentle favors I can just see myself helplessly drained, a sphincter problem, what the school nurse calls "a bowel movement, my boy," that's what she calls me, me with my untrimmed beard and poor-genteel appeal in her chlorophorm den. There's this aunt around which I draw inky circles establishing a little order. I need some too. And certainly this dumb bug does, innocent of direction, of all places to crawl she chooses this faculty table surrounded by members of a faculty meeting at a faculty meeting.                                                   Sometimes the circle stops her at three points of the periphery and she starts again. No circles stop her for good. Angry, I pull my colleague's chair, he teaches History. He says, "The history of music, the history of buildings and grounds." I draw a treble clef around the frantic beast on my notetaking paper. No clefs stop her. I surround her, I surround her by musical staves. I go further, I thicken my circles, I make rectangles, I use red ink, I tear the paper, I am careless in this search for order, she will run off the paper the headmaster will see her and make her stay after school to read Job, I am careless, I break her front leg with my pen. I cry out. My colleague says, "The music of buildings. The history of grounds."   Copyright © 2004 by Adam Schwerner and Michael Heller Sources and Credits: Seaweed by Armand Schwerner Black Sparow Press Los Angeles, 1969 Copyright © 1969 by Armand Schwerner Michael Heller, Conservator of the Literary Estate of Armand Schwerner; and Adam Schwerner.	..