Old eyes, but wiser, says the Greek.  You lose sight of guide-

	lines: I before E, Every Good Boy

	Does Fine, Insert Tab A in Slot B.

Things arrive, at this late date, unlabelled.  All that book-



	learning a waste now--even your mate,

at close range, blurs, becomes a surface with a taste.  

Unlettered, you take up jungle tactics, sniff and grope.

	You might regress to tom-toms, but who



would answer?  Puzzles crowd your path like carnivorous

	plants; your hand goes crazy, writing checks

	to New England Telepath and Faust

National Bunk.  Your grocery list asks for the "apple 



	of life," then "ravishes, letups, grace." 

A meaning leans in with a wink--a wing-beat and it's

off into the mist.  Is a message mixed with all this

	mystery--advice from the next life



for folks who are losing their focus on this one? 

	Is your own hand the medium, patched

	in to paradise, scribe for Something

Higher?  If so, is it advisable to heed it--



	"fix radiances, take out paupers"?    

Not likely, after the time spent getting sensible.

Even uncoded, the Word will turn out some old saw,

	no doubt:  "Love thy neighbor," or "Buy low,



sell high."  You'll try to apply it, but it won't win 

	any prize.  Suppose, though, there's a clue

	in the works, something useful.  Like, "You

there, heads up!  Nothing on paper can save you!  Watch that



	horizon, out where the sea might be."

A tip to heed, if that's the reading.  Indeed, you've had

suspicions--glimpses of something gallumphing there, whiffs

	of the foul or fishy, creeping up



the beach.  You can almost see it now, like a squid, but

	bigger.  Keep an eye out, while there's time

	to imagine alternatives.  Keep

reading the signs: "Deaf End," "Private Poverty," "Wet Pain..."