breaking over an eclipsed wall. Hollows, jittery the bridge a creamed escape careening the soul madly backward a pastel gathering sky - water rivulets where two solitary, graven figures seem indulging a flaccid, breaking stream. [52] 

 

THE POTATO EATERS

The potato eaters - grim, weathered souls wrenching a meal from sandy waste. The dark toil lined ridges carried from their fields to each human face, dim, pale light as shadowy as lives eked out upon this stoney rash of soil. Brows, a murky legend of overwork - deflected hope, seasons up in the smoke of a potato boil.  [53] 

 

THE ASSIGNATION (PONS ASINORUM)

Many devils are in woods, in waters, in wilderness and in dark, pooly places ready to hurt. . . people, some are also in thick, black clouds. Martin Luther . . .Masaccio to the Florentine Renaissance but a naught- every man the same, St. Francis the same as a Jack the Ripper. their rosy surfaces filled. Like an Old Testament curse he is loosed upon the earth. Ecking out his pound of flesh delivering misery in sordidness, he parboils the land. A modern day Tantalus up to his throat in burning lies, his death is to live, in the contemporary sense, the thousand cuts- to bury the skies as a dread Caiaphas into the contradiction, the snares of his being. Measure for measure his blond mane, pale scarf are hallmarks of the doomed Dutchman searching out the Coromandel; like Cain stumbling upon existence, he hearkens back to the original Murderer, has sold his inheritance for a pittance and by doing so has ridiculed the human condition with his life charged obscenity; his blond beast scowl curdled about respectability's neck, his fang tussled face a menacing white cigarette, the soul imprisoned jailer to his teeth, breath and brain. [54] 

 

HAUNTED CHILD

In the dark of wedlock nightly sky, the wither of hope and estranged replies, cause a white face to flicker with transparent eye, calumny of purpose to slowly die.  [55] 

 

TRIANGULAR TRADE

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