Branb.!J Q.rtse 

Openin.!l 
fall. 

and sheer terror, screaming, haunting discord 

and dissonance chime. 

your heartbeat, 

a drumline. 

precipitation, 

perspiration. 

cold sweats, soaking, smoking, swirling inside your head, 

tearing, ripping ivy winds to strangle sound from whisper breath. 

with clawing at your spine, you release a kind 

of madness of mind, of absolute void, 

and rise from bed. 

this time, my darling. 

you are dying. 

can you feel your chemical high? 

WAKEUP. 

6 

Jos~ Bisi$ 

ProloJuet .morocco 
from Th Q.olor of Sleep 

May 17, 1970 
Insulated from the casual processes 1 

subject, except of course the seething 
cuts from handling the papyrus. "I ~ 
else looking up spoke, and U looked 1 

zled. The papyrus edges were sharp a1 
formless and empty, focused purely 01 
allowed, he closed his eyes to placate 
was a deep darkness to his toiling at fi 
of their brows, men of every color we 
sel into the Atlantic-tons of paper t< 
it. This was U's first and last day of 
the craft was in the water, the quicke 
a fast jeep home. But he couldn't sir 
not a photographer, and he made it 
more physical labor than the clickin1 
how any genius planned on making i· 
made of paper. As he was taking par 
ing and pushing and yanking, every 
the serene, and eroding by the heatec 
so blisteringly hot-"Jes us Christ:' !­
among the reed laborers, his tall he 
like some mountainous gadabout 01 
tempting heap, and once beyond th 
from the bleakfaced horde, he had ir 
surely momentous adventure and we 
of reflecting sand and pervasive heat 
his own force so that this vessel of UJ 

the Atlantic shores of Morocco and r 
a dire trip, one with which U would 

He was a pilot, and that is how 
rica, as his chauffer dubbed it. Whc 
nam, U McKensru was one of the 
much grace he immediately fled his I 
airbreather from the local base, his e 
Africa, incumbent on the dusky air