maXwell	1/28/2007 8:44:16 PM Over and over Over and over that black old knife Chopped the herbs to add some spice Over and over that black old knife Parted hair to crush the lice Over and over that black old knife Nicked the coin to verify Over and over that black old knife Peeled the skin to circumcise Over and over that black old knife Carved toys by the fireside Over and over that black old knife Gouged in chunks the block of ice Over and over that black old knife Left on the counter licked by mice Over and over that black old knife Hotwired cars for joyrides Over and over that black old knife Regained its edge against the file Over and over that black old knife Sharpened the pencil point to write
maXwell	11/17/2006 8:38:55 PM The Story of the Burning Man I was young when I saw the burning man walking in the park his face behind flames his hair in blue smoke. He burned and walked. Children stopped games to look turning an instant to mothers or nannies. The grass remained green. Sometimes now talking around the coffee table one will turn toward the window to a sudden sound and I see for an instant singed hair perhaps a trace of blue smoke before fingers comb hair back to hair. I know I've seen after a swallow of coffee on a cold day before the sentence is resumed a spark gap the lips. I love them more for this. Around a late night fire I've told children the story of the burning man: "I know he was a man though he looked almost like an upright log walking in the park enveloped in flame." As I speak I see the burning man walking in the wide eyes in silence in flames. And I fear. I fear my fear. It crackles at my temple stings my eyes. I fear to walk and not burn.
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