wALPURGIS nIGHT (wALPURGISNACHT)*

The sky: a witch’s cauldron, crow’s wings, toadstools, a carious trickery, a scullery without the rub-stone, an avulsion of gray marrow bone gray; Saturday September 9th two thousand and six; the eternal return, this [a} teleological wasteland, a rub-stone without the Braille, this {a} foundry, a Coventry of trickery and misdirection, a witch’s playground.

Witches (in chorus)

Now to the Brocken the witches hie,

The stubble is yellow, the corn is green;

Thither the gathering legions fly,

And sitting aloft is Sir Urian seen:

O`er stick and o`er stone they go whirling along,

Witches and he - goats, a motley throng,

Voices

Alone old Baubo`s coming now;

She rides upon a farrow sow.