Slow, easy Sunday’s spent with papers and select works from Black Mountain students. Poem is entitled ‘DIRE’ by Duke A. Porter. Transcribed: “Dire!” He screamed, his mind was Filled with thoughts, now crumpled paper. Ideas now lost to the bin, Soaked in red wine. Or burnt outside in raging fires That spit bright red and orange embers, That land on one’s skin and mark a time, Through scar, Of what he had. “Here I lay,” He said, “Here I lay no more than a shell of a man! God has not ‘llowed my thoughts to preserve,” Again he spoke, Out loud to nothing but Trees which fall in silence And Lightning which strikes no ears; “My mind! My mind has been ill to a loss of memory, My hand! My hand has been ill to a loss of ink, My body! My body has been ill.” Like moths, which have eaten away at my clothes These ideas I rage on about have been taken. Eaten alive, By a force of good or Evil, seems not for me to decide. And yet, it appears, as decisions made by me lay before I, Something has pointed to me, and, for brief second given all ears, With shaking hand, given me that title, not of good, But of Evil; No more, No less.