The little fairy who is dreaming in translation landis me – and the ponderous mill of the earth that
will keep it stable on its axis has not been turned
by my hands at all – oh no, I’m dreaming of friends
and ideas and reminiscences and fun in the sun
with everyone – I’ve struggled through two short
documents; now I’m staring at a LONG document
while all my thoughts have run away to seek fun
in a different domain and an empty, lonely
Southern Scribe is left to churn the ponderous
mill here under the sea of beauty where the magic
is happening – but remains invisible to my all-too-
human eyes; I sigh for deception and lies, for magic
and mayhem, for the earth wobbling on its axis
and poles changing location and all becoming
ship-shape and no molly-coddling for knackered
sailors and jolly pirates with cell-phones and
automatic guns buried Mafia-style in classic violin
cases, carried by pin-striped men with long coat-
tails while toffs and dandies are drinking all-too-
pink lemonade from long-stemmed glasses and
coloratura soprano’s hit high notes that vibrate
porcelain vases and glittering chandeliers
shine with a million rainbows…
Your lonely Southern Scribe…
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