Which World?   Which world do you represent?  Nightingale’s embowered space where varied scent of buds and leaves rises in darkness from loamy earth or the one where youth grows pale, etc.? Fling your coins on the counter – listen as they clatter and spin into brilliant lozenges of sound.  Whose song tears into your ears?  Mad fiddler in the dusty square, buttocks and legs and beer, or again and again, the arias of easeful death? Steve Klepetar If you have any comments on this poem, Steve Klepetar would like to hear from you.