I thought about most moving Bukowski poem - but since this morning the exhaust from the burning oil off the Gulf of Mexico is reaching 40 miles inland, being pushed by the strong south winds, burning eyes and throats - and that's only the beginning. Can't help it but to think about " As the oily fish spit out their oily prey, spit-out their oily prey..." Dinasauria we - how appropriate. From beginning to the end.