One heatwave day he throws me a sack/marked RetSenAdUn …

which i unsurprisingly discombobulated

threw back

next time ask before you heave your god-sent

thunderbolts — Atli’s constant war with Loki’s beasts — now Skiðblaðnir’s

        ditched for some shallow skip, Harold Hard Counsel’s legacy

	sweeping bleached forests

— cos I’ve seen it all before and won’t

be drawn

I dream a dream within a dream.

By Bukowski’s beard I will not what I will not.

I drops it into the yawning crack outside the swimming pool

	Trees hum the portents; sorry Dad,

	I will mourn my brothers

	gone into that dark school

	where, of late, slow monsters come,

	their breath like coca cola

beyond the black stump

where nothing thrives but the wasted –

	dash those monsters and be damned all cretins of the RetSenAdUn…

with torch and pitchfork burn the abberant

faux-couriers on their sweating demon-cycles who dare intercept

us, the couriers, the gainsayers,

	the modern visigoths, (naysayers of the future)

	wherever they may reside

and in Regensburg, we took a turn about the stable

which turned, and turned about us, in turn

huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, like a butterfly

and stings like a beeeeeeeeee

I beat the flames, watch the letters blacken, fall away in thready patches,

        then fling the rest to sate the flames and flee.

Spit on hot irony – it will sizzle hiss and spat sear on the flame of satire

to choose A). Death by asphyxiation