the frozen tundra of Providence, RI, has a poet or two. one of which: Henry Gould AT WORK. the war rages, theories are sided or sides are theory. the point is sides. Henry wants to get 'into it' but considers: isn't it all circular in nature? which side of the circle, then, could he be on? anyway, he's writing unapproved poems, into singular night. suddenly the 'phone' rings. Henry listens to the voice on the far speak implement. it is 'Kent'. Kent has a plan...