What began as an experiment in ekphrasis has morphed, or perhaps under the circumstances, mutated would be a better word, into a series of pieces that nonetheless continue to speak in quite visual ways. Beginning in the work of Polish painter, Jacek Yerka (check out Yerkaland.com - the Polish site is best, or Mindfields), whose haunted landscapes (where evolutionary time and the laws of physics are displaced and elements of Bruegel, Van Eyk and Magritte mingle), the poems have honed in on a kind of post-apocalyptic, post-Hubbert's peak, post-Chernobyl space. They've staggered from dreams and leapt from other reading. And they're eking out an ecology in the seam between the prose poem and micro-fiction. The visual spaces seem to call to narrative, or set narrative fragments adrift. And these bits seem to collide with the denser verbal matter of the poetry in them. Needless to say, I'm being taken to some very strange places. Take just a single word, the word "tocsin" for example.