Wim is grateful to the editors of Scud for publishing these two poems:

Beacon

They say you can see
futility from space—
the flickering
bioluminescent SOS
of a solitary storm cloud
bursting over
an infinite ocean.

A Passion

In the old woman’s
airtight home (which
she never left except
to go to church) our
druggist savior forever
stretched his arms
in benign and ruined
ransom across the
living room wall above
worshipping masses of
medicine bottles.

—Wim