Issue 16, Spring-Summer 1957
He threw his bat down third and seized the pen:
“My words will make the ages better men!”
“To say the sun direct!” They clanked their beer,
and heard their stomachs cry, the angels cheer.
Even his dog disliked it. “Trite! Amen.”
He wept and ate the lions in his den.
“Have you read Mr. Cammbry? You hadn’t heard!
He flapped his wings one day and was a bird.”