clayboy laurah every day for seventy-four days. styrofoam cup, wooden splinter-spoon a cold sweet cloud, light, getting progressively softer, number, wetter on the way down. A little red fish, hiding frozen at the bottom to greet me after i drain the last of the colored sugar-water down my throat. It sits in my mouth for the next few minutes until it's thawed and chewy. Fall is nice but leaves don't make that ice-grinding sound. Spring is great but green syrupy flakes beat wet green leaves. Winter is fine but snow doesn't taste like coconut. 050828 ... afrika gobbles you(r words) up 050828 what's it to you? who go blather from