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momentum of their own until they burst through the walled-up future with the force of a cannon ball, a force not spent in dreams; Neumann's gaze sees past us, fixed on what comes after. Perhaps someday there'll be a church (in another half-millenium) at the small Fatima where, last week, I watched, with gothic glee and awe, three movies and a promise of the coming, sudden, miraculous and final fall. STUART PETERFREUND POVERTY BREAKFAST PROGRAM we tell them cow's milk is magic feed them brightly-colored solid waste and when they eat we smile like a dentist who's caught a fish in a beige and green-walled absence of breasts they grow vaguely their faces our daily bread ...


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