I hunt and collect scats, fecal spore left behind by a beast with a flyswatter tail and a caudal head. He/It rides a child’s bicycle made to look like a wisp jet, wings spanning 50000 feet or more. It/He lives in the Australian outback, worms and head lice, three-legged ungulates tended by cow herders with cat-o-nine tail flails and leather wineskins: the hunted and collected, all one spore in the fecal fatality of child’s bicycles and bomber jets; a morel for those of us who still think that Dante wore pantaloons and a quail plume hat.
