the Editor

The editor Prof. Langlend, re-discover of the metaphore, all round genius and expert on the old ways would like to introduce a fragement of train-dust prose-poetry written, it is believed, by the apologiser herself ! Although it may be said that I hold a grreat hatred for the original and the radical; this translation is something new as I know that many of you do not speak the language of the Apologiser. Now it has been said by some that the Michael Angelo of decay (and yes she was gay) had a tendancy to have what the French might call an occasional erotic style. This is of course removed for your PEACE OF MIND !! NO EROTIC THOUGHTS WILL EVER BE ALLOWED IN THIS WORTHY PERIODICAL The poem was written in a hurry, judging by the handwriting , and probably while the train was in motion. The regular rythm found in the trains motion along with the warm moist air of the passengers is said to be fundemantal in understanding her langauge and confusion of narrative. This is the language of the underground, the dreams of the light deprived. The grafittee was carefully copied from the ceiling of the train carcass by our greatest living illiterate artist and then translated and censored by yours truly. A final note for those ignorant of the modern city cannon. The apologiser was one of the most famous train poets of all time. Henry V was her lover for many years. The poem starts off at a time before they ever knew each other. The Apologisers explaination of how Henry V entered the city. Henry V herself had completely forgetton the incident. She was always only in the present forgetting the past the moment it had been completed. 1. A Disturbence, barely seen / Look there ! Sillouetted amongst the reeds/ A dark black coat, with a leg/ And two feet./ Henry V lies, with black clothes/ And red eyes !/ Note: It is assumed that at this pont the protaganist stood up./ Screaming winds, blow around her hair/ Standing there ! Shivering winter cold/ Reeds wash waves, upon her thoughts/ Cold red eyes/ And her cheeks and ears are red// Henry V, seperate, androgonous/ Wavering ! Shallow roots and a tall trunk/ Wuth bold determination and a deep breath/ And large strides/ Henry V, pruposful walker,/ Walk on !// 2. Sinking sun, and rising sea/ Indeed a very perceptable change/ A quicker pace, flickering desperation/ In her eyes./ She sighs and looks for shelter/ In the sunken lands// In a home for rats and litter/ She sits, peering out the empty pill box,/ There is nothing/ Not even the ghastly sea./ The empty presence would swallow her/ As easily as the sky/ And would carry on regardless/ // Prof Langlend