A blush is no language; only a dubious
flag-signal which may mean either of two
contradictories.
          George Eliot

When a cube of ice floats in a milky, bee-
coloured alcohol.
By a sensitive political aid who stays up
late reading the Romantics.
    (Take the long necks of three women
and begin to attempt crudity and shock or
pornographic language. See what happens.
This may not work.)

Two trails on the application of make-up
and embarrassment-mime. Kindly put on by
the conservatorium of music.
    (Take silver leads and pin them to
the ears like jewels. Wait for a stretch
of tide. In Switzerland. Like listening to
the sea – using hypersensitive
equipment – many kilometres inland.)

A plot to replace water with fragrance and
drop it from seaplanes (like netting
monkeys in the savannah). By the religious
order of St. Augustine.
    (Watch, very closely, the sexual
movements of heat coming off a cigarette.
Comparing this to salamander-scuttle.)

A paper on the disappearance of balloons
from the ends of pins. By laid-off clowns.
    (Take red food dye and add it to
lightning. Sit back and watch with old
binoculars.
    Rip apart a beetle with a golf glove.
    Getting sunburnt and then wilfully
cheating during chess.)