Cal Performances presents The 4th Witch, November 22, 2025 at Zellerbach Hall

(credit: Courtesy of Manual Cinema)

Witching Hour

The 4th Witch

Manual Cinema

Zellerbach Hall

University of California, Berkeley

Reviewed by Christopher Bernard

For (frustratingly) one lonely, tantalizing performance, Cal Performances, in co-commission and as part of its “Illuminations: Exile and Sanctuary” series, brought the bright good witches of Chicago’s Manual Cinema on a recent Saturday evening for a brew of witchery and magic that they, and they alone, are (in this apprentice wizard’s experience, anyway) uniquely qualified to provide. 

I say frustratingly because I can’t understand how this company’s brilliant toilers, who spent a year creating a compact music-filled masterpiece of puppetry, handicraft, cinema and wonder, can’t have been given a full weekend among us: the hall was packed, riveted to marvels of stagecraft and story-telling, without a pixel or a bow to “slop” in sight, and few left for the fascinated Q&A that followed. When something this fine, brave, and wondrous blazes across the Bay Area’s sky like a comet blithely visiting from a neighboring universe, one can hardly settle for a single, dazzling show – no!

It’s not as if the company were new here and on probation: they brought us a scintillating Ada/Ava in the millennium before Covid (circa 2017, to be precise). The 4th Witch is even finer, and marks one of the peaks in Bay Area performance since then. For those new to Manual Cinema, a brief description may be in order. The creative heart of the company is given to inventing live performances of puppetry, hand-crafted backgrounds, body prostheses, and props and the techniques of shadow plays projected onto large screens and accompanied by live music.

One of the most intriguing aspects of the performance is that, rather than seeing only the end result onscreen, we also see, in the background onstage, the combined actions of actors, puppets, prop managers, projectors, and musicians as they bring the final result about. It’s a bit like a combination of Bunraku puppeteering and an open kitchen at a small five-star restaurant. Far from undermining the magic, it paradoxically makes the end result seem like pure alchemy, as the mind is cast into the liminal space between the quotidian reality and the magical effect. The result is a profoundly poetic form of animation that has the high-wire thrills of live performance.  

The premise of Saturday’s show is as beautiful in its simplicity as it is timely without being brow-beating. As described by one of the members in the Q&A, they took a page from Tom Stoppard’s famous play from the 1960s, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, which retells the story of Hamlet through the eyes of his half-clueless, half-traitorous school fellows, and reimagined another famous play by the Bard – in this case, Macbeth , though, in keeping with sacred theatrical tradition, the tragedy is referred to onstage only as “the Scottish play”– from the point of view of one of the Thane of Cawdor’s victims. 

The story is updated to an imaginary, mid-twentieth-century war in a French-speaking country, and the victim is a young girl whose parents run a little restaurant in a town piled up a steep, isolated hill, much like Mont-Saint-Michel on the Normandy coast of France. The girl’s parents are killed in a raid by Macbeth’s air force. The town is left in ruins, and she runs away after a futile attempt to bring down the mocking, glow-eyed, gas-masked, Darth Vader-like Macbeth by striking him with her stuffed bunny rabbit, her sole possession saved from the wreckage of her home. 

Lost in  the surrounding forest, wandering for days, reduced to hunger and rags, she discovers a mysterious house, where she is met by a sinister old woman who takes her in and sets her to work. The old lady turns out, naturally, to be a witch – indeed, she is one of three, magically embodied in the one, who have a mysterious relation to Macbeth and his powers, a relation that shall not be revealed here, for those seeking spoilers. After the girl, taking a sip of a spell-casting soup, has a sorcerer’s apprentice moment in the witch’s kitchen, the old one decides to teach her witches’ ways – a fourth to add to the three.

And the powers in magic that the girl gains – black as the night, from making magic potions from mushrooms of the forest, to night flying on broomsticks, to commanding daggers to fly to the hearts of their victims – feed the dreams she cultivates of revenge against the murderer of her parents. We’ll leave it at that.

Whoever knows “the Scottish play” can guess much, but not everything: not how famous elements of the play – from floating daggers to the bitter washing of hands, from the assassinations of kings to the executions of assassins – are mixed and blended, with imagination and wit, nor how the amalgam of the imaginary, the remembered, and the hoped for is finally annealed into a satisfying whole – a Gesamtkunstwerk (forgive my German) held light and bright, from acting as rich as a puppet’s to puppetry as nuanced as a great actor’s, to potently low-tech sound design and music from a trio of instrumentalists seconding as vocalists, to world-creating as lyrical and witty as it is suggestive of its own self-contained universe.

Play on, Manual Cinema! And blessed be those Who bring ye back for more than one more show!

Christopher Bernard is an award-winning poet, novelist, playwright, and essayist. His most recent book is The Beauty of Matter: A Pagan’s Verses for a Mystic Idler. 2025 is the twentieth anniversary of the publication of his celebrated debut novel, A Spy in the Ruins.

Welcome to November’s second issue of Synchronized Chaos Magazine! This month’s issue, Throughlines, contains a wide variety of submissions in a diverse array of styles on many different topics.

That said, there are a few common narrative motifs that emerge and return throughout this issue: pride in and reclaiming of culture, family, parental, and romantic love, artistic craft and creativity, and resilience and determination to achieve one’s dreams.

Olga Levadnaya reflects on how people build new memories and add to the fabric of history in elegant and old cities. Dr. Reda Abdel-Rahim highlights the wonder of the Great Egyptian Museum to showcase history and archaeology. Maftuna Rustamova regales us with her pride in her national Uzbek flag.

We can celebrate and take joy in cultures other than our own. Tourist Anna Keiko poetizes with grace and warmth on the beauty she finds in French society and culture. Maftuna Davlatova traces the development of tourism as an industry in Uzbekistan. Solijonova Dildorakhon outlines methods to improve the service and efficacy of Uzbekistan’s tourism industry.

Jacques Fleury reviews the Boston Center for the Arts’ production of Kim’s Convenience, a play about a Korean immigrant family’s convenience store that speaks to what it means to become a family and how that meaning changes over time.

Rustamova Shakhnoza’s poignant stories celebrate patience, dedication, and intergenerational family love. James Whitehead embraces his American girlfriend while contemplating American vintage art. Izabela Zubko plays in her poetry with love and memory. Royal Rhodes speaks in a reserved, thoughtful manner about memory and nostalgia: trick-or-treating, aging photos and furniture, notable storms.

Nozanin Bahodirova links the Uzbek language and the Uzbek culture, advocating the preservation of both. Zarina Murodova discusses possible roles for technology in language learning. Sevinch Hoshimova outlines advantages and disadvantages of online education and advocates for a balance between screens and traditional classrooms. Tuchiyeva Dilso’z discusses the emerging role of AI technology in student learning. Rayhona Nurdinjonova discusses potential roles for artificial intelligence in foreign language instruction. Kamolova Mashhura compares the possibilities and drawbacks of digital and in-person learning. Sotivoldiyeva Nargiza Shokirjon traces the effects of increased global migration and communications technologies on the field of linguistics. G’ulomova Rukhshona outlines evidence-based teaching methodologies for primary school students to learn their native languages.

Nurmetova Orzu points out the importance of and methods for teaching young children their native language. Dildora Saidjonova explores various methods to learn foreign languages. Khasanova Azizabonu highlights the presence of similar cognate words in English and Uzbek. Maftuna Hayitboyeva outlines the importance of grammar instruction in many different theories of language learning. G’afforova Hadichaxon highlights insights from philosophy that can inform and enhance language learning classrooms. Isaac Aju pays tribute to a special teacher who inspired his studies. Sobirjonova Rayhona pays tribute to a special teacher who possessed compassion and dedication. Jumanazarova Zuxra outlines fresh strategies for teaching language to young children.

Oynur Azimova speaks to the power of literature to inspire emotional resonance and creativity. Faleeha Hassan suggests ways to get beyond initial disinterest to find meaning in seemingly boring novels.

Horror writer Kandy Fontaine puts forth an artist’s manifesto about the complex female characters she creates and how that sets her apart from other writers. Alan Catlin contributes sketches of the soft and vulnerable underbelly of life: refugees, the homeless, bioluminescence, long-disused lighthouses, birds of prey without enough food. Luis Fernando Quiroz captures a witch at the very moment when her powers are interrupted at the break of dawn, revealing character while capturing a bit about the limits of anyone’s power in the face of a complex and cyclical world.

Shahina Olimova honors the poetic legacy of Uzbek writer Alexander Feinberg, who captured the national character and became internationally known. Odina Bahodirova also pays tribute to the legacy of Uzbek poet Alexander Feinberg: his attention to details of craft, his integration of feeling and form, his capturing of ordinary Uzbek life. Journalist Jakhongir Nomozov interviews Azerbaijani writer and academic Vuqar Akhmed about how childhood, patriotism, classic literature, and the methods of scientific research all inspire his own work and that of many other modern Azeri writers. Choriyeva Oynur celebrates the poetic heritage of Uzbek writer Zulfiya Isroilov and the tenderness and beauty of her work.

Abdukahhorova Gulhayo honors the tender spirit of Otkir Hoshimov’s The Works of the World, a collection of short stories about mothers. Zarina O’rinboyeva highlights the perseverance and accomplishments of a young and hardworking Uzbek girl and her caring mother. Hassan Musa Dakasku celebrates a mother’s love and kindness. Fiza Amir’s short story evokes the joy and wonder of maternal love and early childhood. Hassan Musa Dakasku celebrates a mother’s love and kindness. Shokhida Nazirova highlights the psychological and physical health benefits of breastfeeding for parents and infants. Abdukakhorova Gulhayo highlights Islamic teachings about respect for parents.

Brajesh Kumar Gupta’s poem reaffirms a lasting love, even in tough times. Mesfakus Salahin revels in the beauty and tenderness of springtime love.

Moustapha Misau’s poetry celebrates romantic love, before and after death. James Tian urges us to love and bless and care for the living while we still have them with us. Tea Russo’s piece highlights the absence of a family member by showing us various unusual things and people included during a time of grief. Taylor Dibbert reflects on how he still misses his beloved dog London. Jelvin Gipson depicts a woman’s internal sorrow over a heartbreak.

Turkan Ergor reflects on how nothing lasts forever, a lesson illustrated in nature. Christina Chin’s haiku dramatize how nature continually changes: someone’s always moving, being born, or dying. Mahbub Alam revels in the beauty of nature, in the elegance of snails in a slough. Dessy Tsvetkova revels in going outdoors on a brilliant sunny day. Aura Echeverri Uribe laments the environmental destruction of a natural mountain landscape. Dildora Xojyozova discusses the growing consciousness of tourists about traveling to scenic areas in ways that respect and protect nature. Yangibiyeva Iroda emphasizes the need for student and public education on environmental protection. Brian Barbeito reflects on the state of peace he finds as a hiker in deserted brown fall marshlands. Sayani Mukherjee recollects the many sights and sounds of a grove of trees near the ocean.

Bill Tope’s feline narrator, Felix, chronicles his life and times with his favorite ‘two-leggers.’ Maria Cecilia Mazza describes the beginning of another cross-species emotional connection, between a human and a robot. Eva Petropoulou Lianou encourages us to preserve the core of what makes us human as artificial intelligence begins to take over human activities: love, friendship, and hope.

Adrina Esparas-Hope explores the multifaceted nature of the metaphorical human heart. Rus Khomutoff brings us to a state of ecstasy that just elides reason. Stykes Wildee incorporates a fresh and wild sound into his rock compositions. Mark Young’s artistry blends the carefully controlled and the wild and vast.

Harry Stammer plays with traditional format, assembling his work from an assortment of scrap punctuation and gathered semiotics. Patrick Sweeney regales us with morsels of short-form that inspire us to imagine a scene or mood. Ari Nystrom-Rice serenades us with a rollicking wave of party sound. Darren Demaree contributes a bit of whimsy to his Dickinson-esque poems for his wife Emily. Jim Meirose presents a hodgepodge of radio signal and static as sports players stop for a bit to listen.

Duane Vorhees poetizes in a longer format on history, mythology, and sensuality with a touch of whimsy. Tanisha Keefe describes various aspects of human relationships and love: steady friendship, recovery after abuse and loss, self-love and self-respect. Kassandra Aguilera steps out of the circus of a failed relationship that never materialized into what she hoped.

Eleanor Hill’s piece provides a dark and visceral take on Cinderella, illustrating stepping into a glass slipper that doesn’t fit. Daniela Chourio-Soto renders subjugation, repression, isolation, and immobilization into intense physical experiences. Nicholas Gunther describes a state of stasis, mental purgatory. J.J. Campbell brings his brand of wry sadness, humor, and resignation for a fresh set of poems. Habiba Malumfashi’s poetry explores how home can both welcome and embrace and trap and imprison. Khadija Ismail spotlights the pain many women endure due to intimate partner violence and urges us not to excuse it because of religion or culture. Bill Tope’s poem dramatizes the pain of sexual abuse survivors in a world denying them agency.

Dr. Jernail S. Anand highlights the value of compassionate and ethical living, causing no harm to self or others, as opposed to simple rule following. Perwaiz Shaharyar puts forth a plea to the world’s leaders to choose peace. Dr. Ashok Kumar calls for peace, unity, and oneness among humanity. Rand Morsy calls the world and humanity to peace. Andres Loriente acknowledges the unity of the world’s people, how we are more alike due to common experiences than we are different because of race. Dianne Reeves Angel’s short story illuminates how she began to understand and oppose the injustices in South Africa while in the country making what was going to be a glamorous film.

Najmiddinova Shahinabonu encourages us to pursue virtues such as perseverance, resilience, and family love, even more than we strive for riches. Luz Myriam Moreno Puerta speaks to overcoming rejection with perseverance. Zamira Moldiyeva Bahodirovna speculates on the psychology behind why we remember negative experiences more so than positive ones and encourages us to strive for mental and emotional balance. Wansoo Kim sends up poems of personal, social, and natural hope and renewal.

Zikrillo Latipov’s short story highlights the value of our hopes and dreams. Bekturdiyeva Nargizabonu emphasizes the importance of youth to society and therefore, the responsibilities of young people to learn and contribute. Aisha MLabo reflects on the inner drive and energy in the heart of a young person. Guzliebo Matniyozova rededicates herself to self-discipline and self-improvement as a writer and a student. Dilnoza Rakhimova celebrates her personal journey towards academic and professional success. Amonboyeva Shahnoza Yusupboy speaks to how one can build lifelong character through the habits one develops as a student. Dildora Toshtemirova urges people to have perseverance in pursuing their dreams.

Omonova Shakhzoda considers how extracurricular activities shape student leaders. Priyanka Neogi celebrates the many women joining the ranks of cricket players. Nidia Garcia speaks to an artistic partnership between a musician and her violin.

Z.I. Mahmud highlights the artistry of older American cinema, some iconic acting performances in particular. Actor and critic Federico Wardal spotlights the movie in which he most recently appears, Anita, which is being shown in San Francisco and receiving the Italian Courage for Freedom film award.

Film is one form of human creative endeavor, and there are many more we celebrate in this issue. Sotvoldiyeva Muslima affirms the crucial nature of the rule of law to a civilized society. Odilova Odinakhon discusses the need for lawyers to receive continuing education. Aziza Toshpo’latova goes in depth about the roles and responsibilities of translators and proposes ways to strengthen the field. Emran Emon presents himself to the world as a qualified international journalist. Boboqulova Durdona presents technical solutions for improving the efficiency of the electrical grid in Uzbekistan. Nordona Norqulova outlines problems with and suggests solutions for the administration of Uzbek public institutions.

Our knowledge can enhance our capacities for protection and wisdom as well as for expansive creation. Baxronova Vasila urges moderation in prescription of antibiotics to children. Nurboboyeva Dilshoda’s essay highlights strategies to intervene and lessen the risk of youth suicide in our age of social media. Nazirova Madinakhon outlines strategies for protecting our digital data from online miscreants.

We hope this issue will serve as a guard against the dangers of boredom, alienation, loneliness, and lack of inspiration. Please enjoy our pages!

ANKLETS

My mother told me I was born with anklets

gaudy, beautiful things

forged of false surrender.

Like every woman before me,

They strapped iron links to their shine,

stretching heavy into the earth’s bosom,

tethered to the whims and folly of the men who came before me.

Then they set me loose

and called me a free woman.

My mother taught me how to live in ignorance

to pretend my anklets were made of gold,

and the chime of their trailing chain

nothing but the sound of love.

For what else, if not love,

would ground a bird

whose wings ache

only to soar?

My mother

she is a time traveller

with no particular destination.

She carved time capsules

out of the living flesh of her daughters

and bid them stay in place

With muffled shrouds of her love.

Her daughters held her chains still.

She forgot her need to wander.

My mothers’ anklets were not made of surrender

My mothers mother

linked her daughters chains with memories

and the resonance of duty

She did not teach her ignorance.

For my mothers mother was a placid lake with deep burrows.

she buried calmly any hints of dissonance In the music of her anklets.

Her chains were long

Buried deep she thought them nonexistent

But my mothers chains They were shorter

Her generation was adorned with brighter lengths that shimmered

Lengthens and shortens at the whims

Of a man’s fickle heart

So they taught themselves the art of forgetting

My mother told me I was born with anklets

Gaudy beautiful things forged to sing the world into order

But here they lay unpolished

Their bells broken at birth

Their song stilled

Only their chains stretching at the whims of unchained monsters. 

Calling Home

after all the years away

Mother calls from the deeps,

curled at the edge of that land’s healing cracks where now, the trees shed fruit with no prompting,

where Sister’s bloodied feet once painted love between the cloaking robes of monsters.

Where, beneath Mother’s watchful eyes, she spun over broken bones called Father.

She calls, she calls, says,“Come home, daughter.”

Home, to the taste of smoke on Grandmama’s soup,

the sweat that beads on her hilltop forehead, the smile that stains that craggy hard face when Father brings his broken laughs home.

Home

that belonged to a girl who saw monsters not beneath the bed but spinning past in Sister’s tear-soaked skin,

bloodied feet piercing the bones of Father’s love and care.

Home

that flows between nausea and nostalgia, the feel of stone and sand between toes.

Stone is stone and sand always sand but the sands of home, they hold the imprint of memory,

Of a 5-year-old palm pressed beneath the scorching red of a termite’s home, a 5-year-old tongue tasting what remains of the ancient one’s hold, learning the difference between concrete and clay.

Home smells of Mother’s miyan kuka, no fish or meat to wash the stickiness down,

only Mother’s voice carrying the dark away with tales of Bayajidda, Zulke, and Alhaji Imam in the light of a single candle on a bed in a mud house built on memories.

Memories of Brother, who once carried water for Mother on his back, the same way he hauled years of Father’s dreams to a country where faces stared at his melanin-spiked tone and learned to call it home.

To crank the heat up to 40, 45, inhale deeply when the new snow falls and try to remember when snow used to be red and winter was harmattan.

Now Brother plucks cherries from fruit stands, cherry that held no memory of sour hands or wild trees

Cherry that is too sweet, too soft, and smiles, swallows, and calls on Sister.

Sister who dances now on waves, where the sea salt sweeps the blood from her soles and seals into the wounds the broken bones of Father.

Her stamping feet screams over the waves and cover the thousand voices of Mother rising from the deeps,

the crags from that once crumbling pit at the edges of what used to be home for a cared soul who loved Mother.

Calling, Calling, Come home, daughter.

The Hive

I want to learn this world like a beloved book

Seek its every hidden crevice between the eyes of mother

The hands of daughter

Between a wife’s parted thighs that form the gateway to God’s greatest gift

I want to write this world into paper

Soak it in waters pulled from the hope that lives

In a first time mother

The hope that presses her hands against a swollen belly

Shares her body with alien life that could

take and take and take

swallow her whole and from her body to her mind

Take every inch every piece

drink it down and know

Know the meaning of love

And the love of meaning

Of knowing

Of letting go

Of your self

Of every part that makes you

Of becoming Maman amra

Matar Ahmad

Your being subsumed within the hive mind

That is wife Mother

I want to take the tears of daughter

Roll it within the black threads of duty

To create the blackest ink

That drips with expectations

I’ll call it Yar fari

Use it to draw this world to paper

Draw the blurring line that separates

Mother from daughter

That entrusts a child between frail arms

And calls it love

That cradles fear like newly found clay in a children’s playground

Rolls it between the fingers of an overeager child

And name it art

Lets it twist and fall in on itself

Try to mould its little wet handles into works of art

To make itself into art

Use Yar fari to paint art across the stained face of this world

Let daughter be daughter

Then sister

Before she subsumed into the hive

And become one with wife

With mother

I want to learn this funny world

That breaks before it ends you in all the wrong places

Chew it softly between clenched teeth

Like a

delicious soup spiced with maggots

Roll it under my tongue

Taste its fragrance

And spits it out

At your feet

And cook a better meal

To feed my cravings.

Habiba Malumfashi is a writer, podcaster, project manager and curator. She is the programs Officer and coordinator of the open arts development foundation, a creative hub for artists and writers in Kaduna. Her work revolves around womanhood, resilience and the inherent feminist ethos of northern Nigerian cultures. Her writings can be found on The Kalahari review, Beittle Paper, Ayamba Litcast among others.

A rant, not a rumour, about a real man

I don’t believe in an arrangement

Of a ringmaster refusing to realize,

Not reprising a role of authority

I realize was never really real.

He won’t reincarnate as a robin when

There isn’t a belief in flying free

Riding the sharks in his dying brain.

I am what remains; I relate back

To a man who can only relapse 

Where I can not keep regiving

My heart’s energy as he replays

His wrongful reasons of ruling:

A royalty his favorite shade of red.

Behind the curtains Ayyiri was a sound of the drum of joy, but it is not same as the sound of mosquitoes wings moving around in the dark? Was it not same as the wails of the sirens from a far?

Was it not……. Was it not?. I regret the very first day i heard it, you’re his they said. I was overjoyed not knowing i was tied Not with those three strong ropes but with pain, They said ” marriage is form of worship” but didn’t told me i was going to the sanctuary, I didn’t know i was going back in time to the time of my forefathers that lived in slavery. Resistance in that place is seen as rebellion not as a form of bravery. ”You are now not only bonded by love, but patience and perseverance.

Love was for courtship ” my mother whispered to my ears, It made me wonder how love will end before it even starts? But it was the very last i shine this my 32 to the rising sun and the falling moon. The hands that i think would hold and caresses now grasp my neck and confines me The voice that was one my favourite now screams and defines, send shivers of fear to my spine He was the apple of these eyes that once shone with light, now dim with tears like he was a third layer of an onion. A heart that once beat with love now is suffering from tachycardia. I complained and they said ”a woman pride is in her husband’s house”

But where’s the pride when it was no longer her husband’s house but a dungeon in the early European empire As if living with a monster was better than a homeless shelter. As if the bruises he left on me didn’t go deeper than skin. How could you tell me ” the patient dog eat the fattest bone” when the water has dried and the stone either burst or burn and emit heat rays that send water raining down my cheeks? I was taught in geography class about earthquakes and erosion, but not heartquake and bloody eruption in the lumen of my Aorta?

Tell me my people how could you tell me ” stay for your children if you leave where do you want them to go” when i was dying every single day, that you are seeing me not seeing me. You said i should endure it but won’t want to walk with me even for a second when i embark on endurance trek? You said i can change him to be the man i want but this is a pendulum bulb A cycle that repeats like TCA cycle, a vicious spin like a wheel of fate yana gararamba a kan titi. It is a dance of dominance, that he enjoyed as if he’s at Davido’s show in O2 arena, it is like an athletic game–an olympic that has a medal to win I thought love should uplift, not tear apart.

I said I’m not staying you started calling me names, yes you belong to the same specie of monster. I left you said i wasn’t religious as if it wasn’t the religion that says ” a finger shouldn’t be lift on a woman to beat her”. It is not the religion that gave me freedom? Haaa? Abi i no read it well ne? Then you said i should remember culture, the one that said i wasn’t entitled to leave even when i was going through hell? The one that said man should carry his wrong doings like grace? Or the one that says woman was born to be caged? Who made the culture then?

You see these words ehn? They were not just arranged in lines But it carries the weight of a thousand cuts The silence screaming in my chest, i swallow my heart in my guts It carries the story of every woman shut down behind the curtains of GBV. A story of hearts that lives but still yearns for life…………. Deejasmah

Khadija Ismail is a student of Medical lab science, a Hausa novelist, writer, poet, essayist and content writer. Her works centres on society and romance, she uses words to address issues like GBV, Mental and public health. She is the writer of Nisfu Deeniy and Wani rabo. Her work will be published in Yanar gizo anthology.You can connect with her on Facebook as Khadija Bint Ismail and Deejasmah writer on Instagram and Tiktok.

everything the egg might mean to Grace

in her one-room apartment

when they tell you what should be the least

of your worries

hand covering his birthmark

she sees my father in me

the summer my hippie sister

made the Blessed Mother cry

he tells me the real reason

he joined the bomb squad

what are you going to do

when they find out you can’t read

it’s the ‘elytra’  the lady bug

is struggling to sort

 Bashō’s feet hurt, too

they smoked a half-pack of Pall Malls before breakfast,

the radio blaring…

the lavender eyes of the sea glass collector

at 90 mph

Mayor Dan starved to death in that front room

on the lower end of Clifton…

I used to ride by on my bike

if you get near the Arno

you know what to do