Spires Of Tallinn
As the sun comes up, a bird of prey drops into Tallinn, the ancient medieval European city. The falcon swoops between black onion-domed cathedral spires, past the metal communication dishes and antennas, into the fair urban park where we lay our scene.

Ghost Ship
'Why is it always night here?' wondered the cat as she watched the constant dripping of seawater fall from the upper decks down to the great hall. She stepped through the maze of rolled charts, pickle jars of yellowed organic samples, discarded cups and plates of food; stopped to sniff a stash of small liquor bottles and cigars only she knew were there.

Small mechanical devices held no interest for her, until they unexpectedly moved, clicked, or rotated; because moving they could be mistaken for mice. This room had always been a smorgasbord of strange smells for the cat, yet the pattern of her path was questionable now on the evenly swaying ship, because this one small black cat was the largest thing left alive.

Forbidden Land
She picked up the hologram from where it had fallen, and played one sequence after another from the old days; the dogs on the roof with the kids, skiing down a big pile of snow, he wore a funny hat during their horseback travel to Manchu Picchu before they left. It flickered to a stop. This wasn't NexRome - she was being watched and it was time to forage for what she could get and move on.

Hanging Gardens
The plain white sands of the beach stretched out like the capital of some foreign country, forever before you, the lover of the realm, yet everything close as the lapping blue waves. Our house above in the cove held a memory of reading a book, nestled in a hammock of simple summer breezes, navy and white striped cushions, and Borges’ stories.

As night came drifting through space, a beautiful evening storm with fiery peaks lit up the deep in bright blue flashes, and even the sea mammals darted under the waters in playful response. Sometimes the waves splash in the break over the farthest deck, hanging gardens of sapphires and I can see it from here.

Corridor
Exploring the abandoned and haunted hotel skyscraper, where are the others? Are they hiding in the old brown wooden wardrobe? or just down the corridor with it's leaking green sewers and hot and cold running rodentia? are they underneath the staircases as you pass the still flickering blue multi-lingual EXIT signs? or simply to be discovered laying dead beside you?

Playground
Some of the kids ran around in circles teasing each other and playing tag, but the youngest took his first giant steps, one big one after another with pauses between the arms of his nanny and her friend. The kids yelled and showed him how to run, as pigeons flew off the monkey bars. He grinned and took more giant steps, several forward and a couple back before he sat down to watch the older kids in their daily circus of playground fun.

Trippin' Days
Word! you clever one, me waiting, above this view of the wet city streets, bright lights cars turning corners, headlights hit the ceiling Venetian patterns break the red strobe, over there fire paints the colored marble floors with marmalade sunbursts, a harp of memory kaleidoscope; the scented wind circulates this great sandlewood desert inside the beating of the TV on, think I saw her ringing tomorrow in paisley spice swirls of pink and furry purple tasting like one heavy surf in Goa.

Eve My Eve
On wings of golden Eros,
the black scarab flies...
to the garden of the Pharoahs
and the flower of the wise.
We don't care how you wander
--how you grieve --
in your empty garden,
singing songs for Eve.
Eve, my Eve, Eve, my Eve.
Eve, my Eve.

Billy Hale's translation:
"...Or would you like me to write something sleazy, like Mancini?"