For two weeks a sodden grave out porthole windows, North Pacific waves lapping creaking oil tanker's orange-streaked sides, "the brink of the world" a featureless horizon that was long ago. But this ocean is ubiquitous, lifting itself and....

raining down one hundred miles inland, I shake
beads of salty water
                                        from my tangled coat.

A facade's rusty shutters thrown open--Party Like An Animal--posted to its peeling brick wall. I wonder how animals party. "Bears dance," Sasquatch says, wrestling with himself.

High-pitched screeching of schisming steel pierces ears, drill tiny holes through
my notion is that once the brain systems are engaged, they don't know (so to speak)
where the impetus came from; they can produce the same effects
whether you activated the process endogenously (from information in memory)
or exogenously (from looking at vibrating brain-tissue.

A couple strolls in front of me. He wears a bald spot encircled by stylish gray hair. A camera swings tentatively from his left shoulder. She's topped off with a blue beret, faux Paris, and a matching knapsack, on this droll day.