Dandelions Here’s looking at you, they appear to say peering over and out from behind the grey cistern on the seventh floor. Easter Day and, yes, we too have made it through the winter. Take a leaf from James Schuyler’s book and pencil us a skinny shimmy, what in the streets beneath is better-known as a poem— one of those that just drop from the blue up then into whose vast baldness our grizzly old clocks launch tiny hair after regenerative hair Martin Bennett Home Economics Counting down from blocked bancomat to rent day, ambushing plain pluses with minus, never…