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336 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1996
In the play Amy didn’t want to be
anybody; so she managed the curtain.
Sharon wanted to be Amy. But Sam
wouldn’t let anybody be anybody else—
he said it was wrong. “All right,” Steve said,
“I’ll be me, but I don 't like it.”
So Amy was Amy, and we didn’t have the play.
And Sharon cried.
When Euclid started out to measure Hades,
he found it had neither depth nor height.
Demons flatter than stingrays
swept above the plains of death,
their barks had no echoes as they ran
along the fire frontiers and the ice frontiers,
along the lines laid down in Hades.
Along the lines that fell apart
and joined again as lines
flock after flock of demons went abreast, in ranks, and parallel through Hades.
There were only waves, no hills, no chasms or valleys.
Only lines, parallel happenings, angles lying prone.
Demons shot along like elliptical plates;
they covered an endless field in Hades as though with moving dragon scales.
On the smoothed-over burial mounds that forgetfulness had destroyed with its flatness,
snakes were crawling—they were merely heavy lines:
lashed, crawled, stung their way
along the flowing lines.
…
The ovens of Hell lay close to the ground
on the flat fields.
There the capriciously damned were burned
in the brick rooms—
near the surface as graves are—
victims of flat evil,
with no comfort from a high place
or support from a low place,
received without dignity,
received without a rising,
received without any of the standards of eternity.
Their cries are met only by mockery
on the flat fields of evil.
And Euclid, the king of measurement, cried
and his cry went looking for Kronus, the god of spheres.