Skree

A perfected vision of late American-style pop art rests on the lawn of the new student housing development, rural Ohio, Liberal Arts, vaguely corn-fed sensibilities on the production of culture. A nude (contoured, shapely); plastered halftone dots of every hue, back up and see; Superman, a barn in some forgotten corner of the world, starvation, a need for genuine contact. The man himself comes home to roost. Visit visit visit.

Our Romanesque cathedrals morph, grow points and extravagances. They react, evolve. Survival of the fittest in a Darwinian play fight. I see it now. Analyze it, eye to eye, speech bubble overhead in comic book pantomime, unreal but marginally acceptable imagery.

Salamanders that grow rarer each year, stuck to tiny habitats under rock, swift water. Not the fire salamanders of old, just the plain wet kind. Case is open to further investigation.

Slip side down a rip rap hill. Boulders in jagged teeth form spell an untimely death for our hero. How will he escape? Some just in time deus perhaps.