Punctual to one tenth of one second, most exact   I offer her this silent dedication, mother, my meridian      Ours, a seamless conversation, your dry wit and my words   Float inside more flies in amber than poetry, I'd guess      Without your eye they are meaningless      The senseless unarrangement of wild things   Just as they are, our ancestors   Elephants, hornbills, mice and my favourite, anteater   You suit me well...      The batter spits into his hand and claps   Exemplars of art   If I were to take whiskey   I'd take it straight