
          cellar, ashes, bricks, mortar,
yet red hot, half melted stoves,
contorted iron bedsteads, masked
locks & crooked nails. That
same old bell is down cellar
not yet disinterred from its
red hot covering of rubbish.

Look at old Nassan. Do you
remember how you felt
when the first time you
were confronted by a skeleton.
Do you remember the shudder
when its eye-less sockets first
stared at you? So stands 
Nassan Hall. Ghastly, lifeless,
still. His windowless orbits
stare at one till he quails,
shudders & turns away.
Add here & there a nigger
raking in the ashes for pennies
& the outline is sufficiently complete.

        