Tom Devaney The rat and the flower pot Under the window the shards a pot, cactus and former spry brown rat. One floor up you remember it was a rat who said "nothing is easier for the mind to know than itself." Odds of the squirrel offing the drunk and still out the sill you have not wrestled until you've wrestled the rat. People keep their mouths and windows shut. Like records when they were records and letters letters. Correctional tape and typewriters will never write this story. A lust for the old lurid images, gravitational pull now, not even asked. The mechanics of inner space, the lapse and the rat and the rat and the flowerpot; a great and squandered vanity. Issue #2