Whatever it was I saw--it was fragmented. I saw a blemish in most of the things I did. I saw armature as something invented by someone I once met. A scaffold, maybe. Maybe we met on the scaffold. I must learn to see past the blemishes in the things I do. If I can move past that scape, then, maybe, I'll be able to droop a little to the side of contentedness.

My sister was the one who called a hibiscus a hibiscuit. She was the one who couldn't swim yet, and I was supposed to watch over her. She could have stayed down like that. We wore suits that had styrofoam loads in them. As we improved our swimming, we'd get to take out one of those styro loads. I pelted a kid. I wasn't supposed to pelt a kid, but I did. I watched what I did through a fence. Between each of the fence's slats, there was a scrim. Eachs skrim had a different color to it. She was a little too heterodox. I was skulking.

Very many formenting guavas beneath the guava tree. The outside of the guava is yellow. The inside, pink. I was bereft, maybe. But of what. I was false. What I thought was false, but I thought it close enough. And what if I am negligent? And what if I am not really bereft, but, really, faking it? I smell some mock orange, I guess. I have smelled the mock orange. Or I didn't smell it with any volition. I smelled it because I had no choice, because I was standing right next to it.

Whatever I was, it was boxed in. I was put into a box and taped. Given nothing but a die cast car for all my efforts. Watching tapes next to me. The whir of plastic through rollers. The whir of images in front of my old man's face. What it came down to was a cuff I was supposed to receive but never did. Let me say this sotto voce. I never received it, the cuff I was supposed to get. Weak pinkies, I guess. He tried to tell me that he knew someone who died from eating raw potatoes. Or, the thing was, a potato root was grafted to a tomato root. And all the poisons still came up and pumped in to the tomato--this poisoned someone later on. This poisoned person had ridden bikes. This person would speak to someone in a shack occasioanally caustically. Would you please pass me the hematite? The blood stone? Do you know your crystals? Do you know what it's like to have to wear a gold ring that's been fitted with an amethyst? Do you know what that is like? And your husband is tinkering with machines he makes as you attend the UFO meeting. Too much traffic. A life in a hovel. Somewhere, the idea was to wear two more scarves than anyone else. The child spent too much of his time designing badges he'd like to win and wear.

Smoke tow. What I had was not an aversion to a woman. I asked her if she found me disgusting. And she did. I sat in a swivel chair. She sat in a swivel chair. But our orbits never did anything. Saw a wretched movie with her. My favorite part was one small part in a hospital--when they were watching something on tv. But she liked the end. It wasn't that she was windowdressing. It was that she was dining with someone else in a window. So I saw everything. She was wearing the same clothes she had worn when she went out with me earlier. She wore jean cutoffs often. Sort of strange. Small black shoes. Too often, she touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. A sort of strange way to thank. I was happier. I thought it was a race, when it wasn't. I thought the end of it all would be when I sold the piebald creature I had found. It wasn't a horse, a no one seemed to tell me it was valuable. I had consulted several arbiters--all of whom stank of pox. They had pox because it was in fashion. I have been told that no one can tell a proper story. We have lost our raconteurs. We have lost them to curtailed cocktails--lines of them, at least, in front of the new signage. What do you say to this misery? What do you say when you see someone studying? What about being callous, especially with gestures of your hands? Take the little man off the glass before you drink. Stand in your garage and watch leaves come down. Tainted. Unhygienic. Things said of my influence. Or is it an effluence? Bootless, I suppose I should brag so much about my socks. I have no boots, but, sure, my socks are fine. But the more I walk, the more I ruin my socks. Maybe she was too kittenish, but she wasn't. Maybe it was my antibiotics? But it wasn't. If you're going to wear a new sweater on a date, don't go in for the frottage. You'll only ruin it.

tops of the spot

I was a tyro, I suppose. I sat on a cane chair, and she did, too. Earlier, her friends had dropped her off in a white car. They had white teeth. A blind man knew who had white teeth. He always knew who had the whitest teeth, and everyone thought he was magic. Really, though, he just listened to whoever laughed the most. He knew that person to be the one with the whitest teeth--what since she showed them off laughing so much.

She was not frail, but she had broken more limbs than I had. She knew what it was like to be encased, to be carapaced. She once had lice. She once drank much cream--a carton--because she saw it in a pink and white container in the fridge.

This desultory relation of mine, I thought I saw him in a hallway. As it turned out, he was younger than I was and was in a woman who had the same name as his mother. This was not unstable to him. I asked him if I could sample his armhair and he said no. I said what of your headhair, your liphair. He never said yes. What he said was that he'd speak to my father and tell him to get all his sights lined and his rounds cased. Speculation as to how much throbbing. Is the flux bloody or phlegmmmed? What of my shabby cuffs and collar? What of my shappy face?

Anyone as thin as her should have worn all sweaters. So what of the nap. A grasp, a jerk, a sheet pulled tight over her face. Pulled tight over her face, the sheet flattened her nose. She screamed into the sheet, and a wet spot opened where her mouth was or would have been.

the marble has pimples

Whatever it was in the sky, it scudded. It scudded, scarped. The scarp face of the rock cliff. What if I were to rub my face against the cliff. Looking up, I see something scud. This something in the sky is not black as it should be but green maybe. Dark green. Hephaestus puts weight on his sturdy legs and asks about boxing. Cabalistic, this is. Gnats on a meal I made so carefully. I am not a part of this outfit. I am part of this outfit, but I do not approve of it.

I pulled a creature out of the sea with some help. The creature was green and had ridges on its neck. It had a beak--but if this beak was for coral--for reef--or for me, I could not tell. This is what I drooled upon. The first one I drooled within. I drooled in it. I drooled on it. I drooled with it. Legs that a bandy. The man is a father. Or he isn't a father. He is someone that's been brass hobnailed into one place. He has a hook made of metal. He has a hook made of bone and of wood. What he would like to know is which hook you would like him to chase you with. You may not say none. Not one. Not any. You must pick a hook so he can chase you. This man, this father, this man hobnailed to a floor with brass tacks.

Fraud liquor in a green jar. It smells strong, but it isn't. Sweet talk me, please. Give me a wheedle and see if I will budge. I made lint come off her on November 17th. Now she works in a hospice maybe. Palliative for the dying. What answer do you have for triage?



A shrike is a magpie. Miss Lonelyhearts skinning a rabbit in his legerdemain. Show me Hephaestus sprinting. Have him help me win the Soap Box Derby. Fine. So I am nonspiritual. So I have dismissed her as hulking. It is not her frame that is hulking. Finally, I put a stop to all kneading. I had them all measure themselves up and oppose me. I wanted them each to ditto my fright.

TINSELWALLOPPUDDING

I had no choice but to participate in an affair of honor, a duel. The reason for it, I do not know. Why? Part of me wants to be a hat band stuffed with money. Buying this hat would be easy. I would without doubt pay 1,000$ for a hat with a hatband stuffed with 2,000$. I partook in an affair of honor, a duel. My ball hit him in the thigh, busting a major artery. The artery is full of red blood, the vein the blue. Burst a major one, and the surgeon did not apply a bandage or a tourniquet. He anaesthetized the person I dueled's head, then wrote on the wounded leg with his pen. Excellent penmanship. I did not champion him. Championing was what I wanted to do or enlist to do at the time, but I was no longer on our dueling hill. No honor ever came of anything. So I went to Spain, wrote in my diary, made sketches. I left it all to my grandson, who had infected ears. My son had infected ears - so did my grandson.

I once collected flocks of pigeons. Pigeon hawks perched on the Brooklyn Bridge would wait for me to release them. Drunks would capture my beloved pigeons. To get them back, I would have to less myself fifty cents. Dig, I said to the drunks in the park. Chip, I said to the drunks on the asphalt. Chip, I said to the drunks on the ice. Squinch, I said to the drunks on the mud. Wake me up when the drunks do something with a material that is not themselves and is not liquid. Pliant, she must have been. These are Spanish pantaloons. This is my pen. This is the artery in my leg. Severed does in.

TERRACEVENIALISHMAEL

To curve wood, we wet it, use clamps. Vested, I am here. When it got wet, then dried, it got sticky. I have a vested disinterest - that might not be what you think. I am nonplussed, looking at all those types of fish. A nurse does not have to pay anything for health care, but she has to pay for whitening her teeth. All told, it comes to eighty dollars. I was asked to "crowd" someone - something odd then happened, something I'm ashamed to write about. A man with lots of gray hair said someone died in the bathroom. For that to happen, blood drained out of the head and into the jugular vein. But that always happens. Blood drains through and around the brain and into the jugular vein. That is what people mean when they refer to the jugular. And when you go for the jugular, you are going for blood that had just been with the brain. There exist many confluences of fluids in the human body. A nurse still has to pay for teeth whitening, and she said her income is complicated because of health insurance companies. Often I am shocked by how much, how many veins, stick to the top of the skull when I remove it. Inside, I see no terraces. I see no banished people in human bodies. I would think pariahs would be banished to the insides of human bodies. Whitening teeth costs eighty dollars. "Loan" is not a verb. It is a noun. Would you loan me eighty dollars? That is impossible. May I please have a loan of eighty dollars to whiten my teeth. Ohkay. On the Deschutes river. In the tree. Waders are in a tree near the Deschutes river. This looks like a man (sexist prose) hanging in a tree. A man hanged in a tree. What happened between the nurse and the bathroom was not venial. Someone died in there, I think, the man with gray hair said. A man with gray hair said. The gray-haired man. The man, gray-haired, said. Hyphenation is tricky, but most people do not care about it. My name is hyphenated. Oh, is your name hypenated. And locking arms with someone when you walk down the street can be unexpectedly familiar. Or is seems to jaunty for the occasion. This is very triste, tres triste, right now. The pain is in the lower lobe of my right lung. I knew I had a pain in my lung, but, after I felt around in a cadaver, I knew the pain was in my right lung and on the lower lobe. I had a cadaver, and I would touch it. I would touch the part, and then I would try to decide whether or not my corresponding part hurt inside. When I spit up a substance, I see if it floats or if it sinks in water. Is it stringy? Is it thick? Is it thin? Does the water rip it? Yes, the water rips it. My friend came from England to Aix, just to visit me and check on my lungs. Venial. Terrace. Ishmael. Banished, he was ismael. A pariah. Parian. I have been saved automatically by ishmael Stevens. By a Stevens, ishmael. He is "kind of a jerk." He is "intimidated by the class." The hurt happened first. The eighty dollars. I have lost my purse. My purse cost me more than eighty dollars, but I have excellent health insurance. In college, the students are allowed to do things to the dummy. They are allowed to bury it or hold services for it. They are allowed to imagine it grow old or imagine it asleep and very attractive. They are allowed to do the suicide things to it. Look up "best way to commit suicide" on the internet, and nothing really comes back. Some websites pretend to have answer, but then you get inside them, and it's all about thinking about not doing anything. Gregory Corso wrote a lot about stealing wristwatches and wetting the bed. In the one letter I read, he also wrote a lot about masturbation - only he wrote it "masterbation." Thomas DeQuincey didn't go to a party because he was in low spirits, and he knew only his sisters would be there. Allen Tate wrote Robert Lowell a letter of introduction by way of a milkshake. When a vein shuts, it feels like an eye closing. It's is good to imagine yourself closing your mouth, even when your mouth is already closed. Or when you finish a thought, imagine yourself closing your mouth. Or a scrim, a mucousy scrim, a mucousy scrim membrane, should be something you pull on to yourself when you want to be genial, not venial, at a party. If you want to have fun at the party, then imagine the mucousy scrim is warm. If you want to have little fun or no fun or look very sophisticated, then imagine the scrim is cold. The mucous should be yours or the object of your desire's. To my one desire. This is for my one desire. This is when the monkey got tangled in my bedsheets, and I was on the ocean liner on my way to Africa. And I was so mad at that monkey, and that monkey smelled so bad. I wanted someone to get it away from me and tie it up. I never left La Touche because he was such a great short. The zagreeba was what protected us from the animals, though we had very little trust in it at first. Every time I started a sketch, a leopard would crouch near. This is for my one desire. A simple desire. A desire qualified is far more interesting than a desire. To qualify means to particularize - and particulars can become exhausting in anything that lasts long. For example, her teeth were very white because she had had them whitened. She also had poor circulation in her hands - she said that's why her fingernails were shaped in such a downturning way. And yes her hands were cold - so were mine. But my neck was supposed to be warm when she felt it - I see no way any of it, my neck, my neck, could have been otherwise. She touched my carotid. Then I let my jugular be touched. Touch my carotid, and that is all blood that has not been near my thoughts about you. Now touch my jugular, and all that blood contains thoughts about you.

I lied about having read something, having seen something, and having looked something up in the dictionary. I was supposed to tell my sister about the word "diener" - so that she could impress a surgeon - but I didn't. I was supposed to tell her about a word that starts with "s," but I didn't tell her about that one either. The word had to do with seeing white beneath someone's eyes - it sounded like "seppuku." I was supposed to mail a disk to a publisher, but I didn't. I wasn't supposed to speak about Vaunted getting a grant, and I did. I spoke about it for a long time to the aggressive man who lives across from me. My father figure - when I was 16 - was sort of a cliched character now that I think about it. He, like a cliche, died of a heroin overdose beneath a banyan tree in Kapiolani park. I wish I knew some great new slang term for heroin, but I don't. I could call it "Royce," I suppose. He pushed himself into some Royce. He once told my boyhood friend and me about how he died multiple times, and how - like a cliche - each time he hovered above his body and saw himself dead. But I read an article in the New York Times about how that sort of thing has been scientifically proven. He didn't have any kind of mystical experience - the whole thing was some kind of yet-to-be-explained article. The man who collects dead bodies in Detroit is a cliche. We like it because we are so drawn to that sort of reporting. Hey, he's never recovered a dead Asian person. Half the time, those he recovers are naked or on the toilet. But has he seen dogs pulling a person apart? I went to the Post Office today and saw a tree falling down on my way. I got a coffee in the bread shop this morning, and a man who is always there accosted me yet again. He always wants to know if I've ever read anything about General Custer. A month ago, I made the mistake of telling him I'm a close personal friend of Evan S. Connell, the author of Son of the Morning Star. Jesus is sometimes the son of the morning star, but Lucifer is sometimes called that, too. (I learned all that from reading the notes to James Joyce's Ulysses. Whenever I see Ulysses or Don Quixote or Lolita on anyone's bookshelf, first I think, "Oh, college. The usual exhausting student books." Then I think about cliches.) I can never remember who is Lucifer, who's the Devil, Mephistopheles, or Beezelbub. Evan is just about my grandfather. He took baths with my grandmother in France. My grandmother does not like it whenever I grow any kind of facial hair. She says has never cared for any kind of facial hair. The only time she ever liked it was when it was on Evan. He has some sort of mustache. Now he lives in Santa Fe and bird wathes and publishes something sloppy but named every other decade. My grandmother also took baths with Anthony Quinn and Sydney Chaplin. Quinn's calling card was a little red round of Smiling Cow cheese. My grandmother has a trail of black hair that grows from her groin to her navel. She shaved that thing for some men but not for my dead grandfather because he liked it. He is dead. Before he died, he had to have a leg removed. They also made him eat shark cartilage. The man in the bread shop is something of a cliche because he has lots of scars on his wrists. I asked him about them, and he said he has tried to kill himself numerous times. I asked him if he ever tried to lie in a warm bath after he did it. He said he did. Killing yourself like that is a cliche. Sometimes people open veins on the throats at the insides of their elbows or on the insides of their thighs. Any kind of killing - no matter how creative - is a cliche. Someone told me the story of the woman astronaut who drove 900 miles while wearing an adult diaper so she could pepper spray the rival of her imaginary lover's affections was trite or cliched. Vaunted Sharkey, another of my boyhood friends, told me he accidentally had sex with his sister when he was 8 and she was 10. That is a cliche. Writing about it now somehow seems so tired and familiar. I have often used the word "exhausted" or "exhausting." This is all so exhausting. After I mailed my application to the summer writing retreat (I'm sure I'll get in) and my friend's submission to a publisher, I spat in the bin. I spat in the street. I spat on a restaurant's window. I spat in my coffee. Yesterday I read next to a German man who re-enacts Viking stuff all over Europe and America. He has been to all the contiguous U.S. states. He was a roadie for a metal band in Oakland - I forget the name of the band - they still tour and their name starts with a "D." He was an especially cliched figure, especially when he started talking to some bearded young men about the U.S.'s diplomatic methods. The bearded young men had been in a band and had worked as roadies, too. The bearded young men had ridden boxcars and hitchhiked across the U.S. in the early 2000's. Oh, and the German Viking was doing leather work as he spoke about diplomacy. He was punching holes for silver pieces he wanted to sew onto a leather sack he probably made in West Virginia. Vaunted is a cliche, too. And the boy who sold baby scorpions to all us other boys in fourth grade.

He came from orange and played on the offensive line for UNLV. Railroad stations come momently. An organ should be re-leathered. The inside of her was re-leathered before we went to the Jersey Shore. She wore a tiger print bikini. We went to the zoos in Philadelphia, Newark, the Bronx, and in Central Park. Joan Crawford was disguised as her maid before she went behind her screen and changed.
In a peach orchard
Athwart his legs
By the crab
In the sea
Death comes momently to the lady in the tiger print bikini. My grandfather had to have his leg removed. The question happened to be above or below the knee. To go below the knee would make everything much more complicated. Whatever the surgeon saves must have a blood supply. Grandfather's minah bird, Georges, eats only hamburger meat. The airstream trailer is too bright to see. She has hair growing up to her navel, but my grandfather likes that. Other men made her shave that or she shaved it for them. Get ready to retch. Near the water pump for cleaning camp plates, you get ready to retch. You water out your mouth. This, after bad cranberries. This, after grandfather's leg. He played on the line for UNLV. He has a ring like a knuckle from the Naval Academy. He dropped test atomic bombs in Nevada. Played volleyball. His workers wear straw hats and black jeans. Scarcely broken, the minah bird, Georges, speaks to me. My landing received, I fell down the stairs and knocked out my front teeth. I am attracted to women with kicked in teeth and canines that flair out. The thoroughfare was flooded with fools schooled at Notre Dame. None of them like aluminum paint like me. The tigers at the Philadelphia zoo made me sad. Their cage looked awful - no one made any attempt to make it an environment. They had hosed the cement, so the tigers had wet stomachs. Inside, stomachs wet. My dwelling happens to be brilliant red and exceedingly demented.
I run underpass.
I know what the Holland tunnel sounds like. Mr. Holland died before they finished him. 14 died. But, hey, it's ventilated. Does it still cost 6$?
Kill Van Kull under the long bridge. I am a fine example of cowardice. I am ready to retch what I have. I cluster because this is it. Once in a sycamore
the strong sea
Phalanx, spread.
My talent was postponed for another ideal wait. The poet's permanent home was fumigated. Mount Pleasant. My progress - I am less sententious. I have decided to write AND live beneath a pseudonym. From my cottage along the river, I see children attempting to fish.

Now that I have completed my second year, I am HAGGARD. The LACE I bought gave me no delight. I imagined it would, but no. I eat what I can overcome. My brother wears a LEOTARD. He can be in the basement. He can pretend his arm's removed. He can put a cord around his wrist, put the end outside, and wait for something to pull him out the window, into the street, and into the sea. He can change from a leotard to just the tights. Black tights. Up top, he looks 3D. Down below, 2D. You OUGHT to thank me for coming home. You had too much to drink, so, when the alarm goes off, we don't know what to do. And Delos, in his dancer's tight, telling me about the Tybee bomb. He is the gold coin boy. KECK: to make the sound of retching. Get ready to retch. "Keck" was the sound she made. I would like to KEEP what you gave me. The RAUCITY in her peritoneal cavity. I HOP aside, of course, unnerved by nail polish, my hives, and the two-dimensional quality of my brother.

The email iris inside of her eye is the dark inside of a mushroom. The iris looks too much like the inside of a mushroom. The unlovely sorter of cadavers. She cuts herself - a tidy one with a knife. A thirster but vomition. Four years old and in surgery. A brain injury. He sat thwart-wise from me and dripped. He, the drip, the thirster, and all he sees is vomition. The hand-drill in under the sink. Under the skin. Again, the "k" jumps back when we want it to. Ants in the dough. He, the thirster, was a freak of temperament, of disaster. Her face was freaked with blood - o, the cadaver. How hard is it to remove a leg, an arm? Before I sleep, I imagine my arm's removed my leg. I have a cord around my wrist, and I believe something will pull me out my window and into the street. Then, into the sea. This story will be about ecstasy. It comes by addition or by subtraction. For once, we proceed from chaos to equilibrium. Her face surrounded by bevel gears, by vomition. Fraught with fastenings and bevel gears. The wet-strength of the gauze we use is impressive. I warn the surgeon. The surgeon warns me about trephination. Something about diabetes and the cure of it. The glasses were broken. The glasses were not broken, but the man died. His name was printed on the bow of his glasses. She opposed my opening. Here I am, clear and tight. I have found tasks. I have found discussions about the surgery of the head. The brain.

Despite what I say, the thrum of her hands is a kindness. We sat thwart-wise for a long time. Wettability, maybe. This was written recently, but it is open for serious crit? Absolutely. He decayed through his ancestors, through his teeth, by burlesque. Yes. Nothing but a burlesque, it was. He pantomimed the scandal on a plane trip to Cuba because the engines were so loud. He could not tell us about the scandal on the plane, because the engines were so loud. The man who memoired the pine trees thanked me for handling all his ordinaries. The man, who wrote about egrets in his poems, proceeded to memoir my pine trees. I asked him not to.
The passage of their necks on my spine. The ballad I heard was sloppy, but it had a thrum to it which fixed the cant of mine. Your Symbolist poetry was a little misleading. In those years, I was ill, less obscure, and should have been obscure. My hat was black. The most delightful images appeared on my mirror. This time I am writing of machinery and broad stone sidewalks. I am writing of a shimmer I saw but cannot describe. Of wettability. The hallucination of having lived a sunday childhood. The reptile's cloaca that clicks in my head.
The wreck occured because there was ash in the air, in the sea, and in the back of their throats. His amusement of my letter led him to his fireplace and chimney. He discarded me. Later, he found a metal box in the back in the bricks. An Italian pistol, two wedding rings, and a round bone. In his life, he was associated with a decade, not a century. It gets easier. This stewardship gets easier. I am not very fond of the charm resisted, the fatality persisted.

At hazard, I asked her if she'd like to walk a circuit with me. In the middle of it, we saw masts of ships framing a plummeting plane.

Bird beak nibs. Yes, she is clear and tight enough. She was clear enough when she said the sort of thing that does not involve the brain, the tongue, the neck. What she said just involved the glands. Her writing comes from the glands, not the heart. Not the head. Her clear and tight. Dear Puzzled By Indirect Intercourse... What's wrong? Don't you like crunching ice with your boots? Don't you like being told your biology, your work, your behavior, stinks? Don't you like someone hounding you with a camera and no click? She used Like when she meant As. He, the pedant.

Cruel acts which are not bad - I am looking for these. Ever handled a widow? Have you? Have you ever had a standing date with a widow? I have. And we never fail to knock knees. Ashamed of me - more shaking - I drove the car over booby-traps and nothing! Not a one worked, but I wanted them to work. I know what it's like to get it all across the elbows. For days, I've had it across the elbows. Enough. We hid the canteloupes in the theatre, because they had wrapped up the play. In the first act: they cropped him close.
In the second: Moments, however friendly, damaged my eyes. A whole diopter.
In the third: I found a lump of marrow under my seat. I thought it was rubber cement!
Fourth: discordance
Fifth: They got nothing done. Even the curtains wouldn't close. You know when the rod sticks? When the temp is just right and the plastic blows against you and wetdrifts against your thigh? I kept a window between her and me. Then, I painted that window because she sickened me. Comma, she sickened me.

Death, maybe, comes momently. With it comes a trephine and a flap. Because of his care and dress and habits. The girl who was clear. She was so clear. When children play at modern practice, nothing good happens. By good, I mean something that ends up on the plastic. The innovation of the skull flap. Self-taught. How difficult is the hyphen! The comma. Merriam Webster's dictionary is the only one you should be interested in if you would like to make it in the publishing world. If journalism, then MW's New World dictionary. Random House has a dictionary, but they still play by MW's. I would like the one from the 60s that comes in 3 volumes. No, I would like the one from '34 that comes in three volumes. To learn about proper punctuation, I will look at bound New Yorkers from the 30s to the 60s. That is the Golden Age of punctuation. There is nothing to it in the heads of the children now. They did not eat the mechanism, because it contained too much fat. They did not eat it because it contained two much fat. Only 2 gray hairs in his beard. Pull them out, tie them together, and put them in her drink. Her and her black and gray striped dress, the one I hate. It is supposed to be one of a kind, but it is not. Here I am, on my knees again. He closed it because it stuck in his indication. He did not close it, because it stuck in his indication. Get ready to retch. Get ready to play on the cut grass. Get ready to put material in your jacket because your jacket is not warm in it. Watch your gloves fall in the toilet when you bend over to read the graffiti in the grout. The Grout Gatsby. Grout Expectations. Grouts of Wrath. Apologies. True theories. Grafting fruits to his arms because no one will spend time with him. A child.

Procession, move. Go over the rocks.

Too cautious, speculative. He only cared for the sunlight during the day. At night, he did not care about the sunlight. The puzzling cut oozed. It came out of him like cream. Cream has a feel to the pour. Pour blood, and it has a feel to the poor. I am ashamed of the way I speak. I do not speak in beautiful or complete sentences. I do not start my sentences with emphasis, and I often fail to finish my sentences. He could not get over how tangled the tree branches, how layered the leaves. Colder. Recollections. The nib of his pen is a crow's beak.

When it runs out of ink - Caw!

Square box - very different - infected palms - dripping cream - pursue me further. WHy did you stop?

When I am alone, I see a wasp. I become quick. I become weak. I see cowardly. Unbound, however, I marveled at all the red on me. Cordwireropetwinehempbutcherstringziptie
Again, whenever I choke, I become fascinated with oxygen. I cannot figure out why. Me, in my dancer's tights. With my shirt off. They removed a stone from his head when they wanted to. My boyfriend was named Marek. I went to Brazil but could not understand Portuguese. I made that greasy faced kid tutor me in geography. I, later in the week, poured a drink on him. Liberal intercourse - in verse. Luxury is often sterile - with a trick of the head. "Something poured electricity upon them." Yes. When Joyce heard it, he got on his knees. The soiled stuff of Barnacle in his pocket. Stephen, burn this.

His care and habits. The way he dresses, his care, and habits. It was not the skull's fault - not the trephine's. She thought the trephine would relieve her of her fits. No, she got one for spiritual, no, mystical reasons. She wanted to experience ecstasy by addition or subtraction. For one, equil. She gave he skull to her son. Her skeleton and brain to her doctor. She wanted the rest of herself burned in a plastic bag. It would melt around her and give off gass. SO they gave her a trephine. She wanted them to give her the piece of her skull they took, but the surgeon already went away with it. Oh, she got mad. The surgeons and alienists took care of it. The one surgeon was a voice teacher. You don't have to have an MD to be a surgeon. The most eminent alienist. They cleaned the flap with carbolized water. They wanted to clean the flap like this, but they didn't.

A missing point. The Who Killed Her mother. The situation of the people is extraordinary. The situation of the bodies is less than what I expected. Sitting, counterpoised like that one picture of Billy, the Kid. Counterpoised in that one picture. Even my imagination is pocked with rock shelters. In each one, they marvel of the race. Not numerous. Not erect. No, silent. Something like when the ice hardens overnight. Something like leaning against the bookcase with your friend and doing the arm touching. Tubes of masonry. They stopped making tubes of masonry when it went out of fashion. vaunted came in and wondered about everything we were doing. vaunted wanted a new pronoun. The pronoun "I" makes the new pronouns - blends the He with the She with the It. The I dies that. Some places overhanging. Cleverly placed houses. I touched with him because of the house. I represented cliffs with my hand. Invented a new pronoun. vaunted wanted everything. Maybe too much. We mistook elliptical clauses for gerunds and friends. The imbecile. The supplies sink ahead. So much wasted, invested. Touch or Bust, we said. We ate with vaunted. vaunted claimed vanted's childhood was punctuated with red - like Stephen Crane. A red bit of cloth, a red leather glove, a red boot, red coming out of the lover's claim. Anything difficult was superseded by vaunted. By perils alone, we succeeded. The trestle-work of so much of her. I am streetside, but she works through windows below. I see all the trestle-work and am reminded of the thing I want now. Eccentric perserverence. Defiantly impressive. vaunted makes the cracks glow. I want the cracks to glow. Take all the cracks streetside and make them glow. Unfortunate she wore a new red sweater. Months after the fact, red dots everywhere. Some I threw away, some I flushed, one I ate. I ate her hairpin because that man ate an airplane. He knew the one thing he wanted then. vaunted in dancer's tights. Annoying. vaunted borrows the tv cable - has me wrap it around vaunted's wrist. New at growing hair, of course. Wants me to pull vaunted through the Atlantic. vaunted imagines having an arm removed. The arm raised by a butcher. Some preliminary cuts. The slip of it and it's off. I am told lovers can sleep on the blade of a knife. Her point was so close. Her point. The knife of it. Covered with talus. Her ornate porage punched in her face. Each one with some point that I would not like to consider for fear of upsetting vaunted who could only be bothered to pore over anything of mine. vaunted will pore over anything ov mine. My frontage roads instead of stoplights. My worthy increase in her presence was not acknowledged - sidewise. Counterpoised. The butt of the rifle is on my toe. The rifle work explains the lustre of my face. The gleam of it. What with windows - me streetwise. vaunted saw her wearing the same clothes. The same black skirt (cloud-girt). The same purple tights. The same horrible black shirt. The coat. The same! All of it. But she was eating with another contestant. The grotesque. The fully furnished. The formed. All of it known by vaunted. And I saw something that horrified me in a mucous membrane. But what I cut off was preserved and taken 40 miles into the interior. I asked for a blow across the wrist. The wand was made of yucca, but, of course, we spat on it.

All of Mount Pelee all over the place. The explosion excites fer-de-lance vipers. They are all over the streets and strike at everyone freely. The volcano has taken it into its heart to burst forth. It was extinct, but now it has taken something into its heart. It oversaw an argument - was the third party to an argument - and now it has taken something into its molten heart. This, all in Martinique. Horses snort before they die of suffocation. The smell of sulfur is strong, and the entire city is covered with ashes. The sea has ashes in it and on it. Ashes wash on shore. We thought we sailed into fog, but, no, it was ash. We sailed INTO ASH. The death must have been horrible? And the deposed king? Never found

What goes on in the stadium inane? Oh, anything. Erasmus writes his grandson a letter - tells his grandson about his 16 yo grandmother. The elongation of jowls before we plastinate. 12 bombers fly to Guam to hit a refrigerator. Felicitas was already old when they found her in the wreckage. The vicepres, Mr. Agnew, is growing his sideburns longer so he can appeal to younger people. He grows them in Guam. His head gets browner. A soldier is found in the forests of Guam. He had been hiding for over 16 years. He could not believe Japan lost the war. Why couldn't the bombs have exploded offshore? Nuclear times. A man who grew up in Honolulu holds the second highest post in Guam. The highest post is peopled by Carlos. What does it feel like to live near a trench that goes so deep? over 30,000 feet? We expected to see a dirty, ugly city, but we found something quite beautiful instead. Table settings in the Stadium Inane. Each one costs 1000$. What if you want to sit in Cobo Hall? What if you want to fall through Cobo Hall's roof? What if an elephant breaks your fall, but you still break on the elephant? What if you paint an animal to kill it. In order to kill it. SO that you can kill it. Pontiac's effort - the trouble is that no one tried. They paid all that money for those place settings, but they never got what then wanted and no one tried. The ended up on a river near Cobo Hall. A party boat that trolls the sea. Trolls for what? Oh, anything. The disappointment of the restauranteurs was announced through the newspapers. How chevenet! How reynaud's disease! reynaud died on yestuhdee's date. 700 people from Guam sue America. The suit is unusual. Saipan has a mountain range that looks like a woman lying down. My father repairs eyes in Saipan. Dear Mr Leonard - How can I improve my hand speed.
He returns to town alive. Amazingly.
This is not a pleasure Cruise - it is a Crubse. It is the most pleasureable Crubse you will ever receive. Fantasy. Holiday. Jubilee. Amerikhan. The S.S. Retch is ready to welcome you aboard. Next stop: Guam. Carlos, Mr Leonard, and Lersamolle will meat you at the dock.
yes, there is a lot of anger in Congress.
The volcano is the third party. I get into a huge argrument with her. I am the first party, she the second, the volcano the third. The volcano is the third party, and, as we argue, it upgrades. Quite volatile. Quite specific.
The sanitary situation. Let's clean up the island. Why, yet another of us died of peritonitis. We made so many efforts to make sanitary improvements. They show gratitude but not enough.
The millionaire tells his relatives they should not expect free board and clothes from him. Also, forget the mining land in Colorado.
The lunatic's guardian now expects recompense. He finds flaws in the evidence. For example, an illegal marriage. A marriage on mining land in Colorado. The bride and the groom wore borrowed clothes and expected free board. The period of waiting bids fair to be tragical. Really tragical - maybe comical.
For once, decapitation is doubtful. I renounce my desire to think for myself. Then, I ask, "Is decapitation doubtful, or could I take care of it today? Is Mr Leonard in? Could he help me with my hand speed? How do I Play It Cool?"
Ridicule from enemies = sympathy from friends. The emperor revealed he tricked us into believing a century has only 99 years in it. Every face is wreathed with a smile.
7000 pounds of magazines comes to Guam from Jersey City. The humorous features of his rule. The Germans in Samoa? My consoling thought did not fit through the tube that runs from America to Guam

Ostentatious. Vaunted. The orphan's parents could not conceive, but they could conceive of her. I boasted outright about the nocturnal adventure. The treed bear. The betokened storm. When it came, I kicked as many frogs as I could away. The boy with the chromosomal told me about the storm before it hit. Rutted. Leafless trees like dendrites sparking across the sky. Ah, yet another personable tree line. The private island of Chapaquoit. Todd lives with his girlfriend in the servant's quarters. They attempt to hold onto their house and fail. A fisherman may only fish three times a week. If you fish on saturday, it counts twice. You may catch only 1000 pounds of fish. If you catch 2,000 pounds, you must throw back a dead K. And if you fish for men? If, from the Celestial Sea, you fish for men and catch 10,000 pounds? Why, you must throw back 9,000 dead pounds. And when the big boat, Discordance, bites off your right arm? Why, you know it's gone before the ambulance comes. You dig a hole, put yourself in it, then cover it.

There is no danger beyond the circle I drew
The throes of death - the mustang escapes - rampages
The boys stared at the prairie. The boys were hunted by their fathers. They were treed.
In the ravine: a hawk with a broken beak.
Evidently, I was singularly divided.
The other day I watched tv.
That's funny... The other day, I watched tv, too!
Have you ever smelled mothballs?
Who held the tiny legs?
A randy inference, again.
On Martha's Vineyard, I rolled in the wet grass. He gave me the tour of his private hell. This is the 300 year old house with which I will not part. This is the oldest carnival in America. This is a picture of a great poet before the men from LIFE came and ruined his life. He was an elegant man and my friend. I was never known as a vagabond or a vagrant. Who cares about the passive voice if the Whom is inconsequential? I wait for the precious evening. I now value it more than anything. Why? Concordance. I am an alleged undertaker, an obvious overseer. In my family, three of my ancestors were the victims of assassins. Where did one die? In the New York Public Library.

Body Worlds 2 is bad. The cadaver kicking the soccerball is stupid - ditto on the ones ice dancing, looking deep in thought, training for the Olympics. Why not have them pretend to toss their heads around, kill each other, have sex? Why not have them plastinate each other? Why not rig them up to sing songs and make waffles. My grand-mere wanted to donate her body to Body Worlds 2, but I talked her out of it. They would have skinned her and put her in a dead rhino's belly. THIS IS WHAT A PERSON LOOKS LIKE IN A RHINO'S BELLY. No, that's what a cadaver looks like. They all looked like mummies, dummies, puppets - did not look like the real dead. Oh, I've seen vids on the internet of the real dead. That stuff is real; that stuff moves me - makes me feel that thing about death. But BW2? Nothing. Nuts. We would have learned more in a morgue. Plus, at a morgue, we wouldn't have to deal with clever t-shirts or coffee mugs. We would only have to contest with scalpels and drains. So I'll take a bath with Sydney Chaplin or sleep with Anthony Quinn. I will have an affair with the debonair, moustachioed author of Diary of a Rapist.
The latest light on Mars. Blinded in the metalsmith's. Now, I'm blint. The hero in the war is a coward, long since abandoned. Very young. 25. Please correct your affectations of style. You would do well to correct those affectations. Petty tricks. Lots of them.
The wealthy builder killed himself. He was, of course, insane for several days. Each day had a name like Discordance, Concordance. A member of the Newport Golf club. Now in the sewah. Cause of death: a bullet would in the temple. Where was the bullet found? In the tallgrassy Rough of the Newport Golf club. The worth of this man? 30 million dollars. He was especially cruel to sportsmen. He hanged three sportsmen on the evening of Concordance. Joe is in The Tombs. Stabbed by his brudduh. Fud. Amy Leslie sued Stephen Crane for 550$ dollars.
No one could tell what the trouble with her was. No Trubbuh. She was missed from the scenes of her former triumphs. Otto Graham was 66.
Arrived
Disasters
Spoken
Arrived
Sailed
Arrived
Inquest
Supposed homicide
Camphene Explosion! Whooda Guessed! Whooda Guest kissed Whooda Thott passionately. As they did this, the camphene lamp exploded. Police were nearby, but they did not put out the flames.
The following is the decomposition fo the dying man:........
The blows were given - generously - without permission.
The operation of trephine was performed upon her fractured skull
after
the
accident,
but without avail.
The woman wanted a trephine for spiritual reasons - wanted that blood in her head.

The climax of all we worried about arrived at Tybee. Fission, markets, destructive potential, ought to be able to fend the bugs off. A deathless drama, a comedienne comes to town, Ms. Drowne. The revue has broken down. The six undernourished girls were giggling at me all week. For what? Discordance/concordance. My attitude at Michaelmas: stroppy. VAUNTED. Esplinade. An contortionist who's an onanist. Get it? Her name was Lenore. The gunner fought the fish in the water. Afterward, he was none the worse. Verse. Curse. Hearse. Nurse. This affair again. Her murderer was her brother. Oh, this is too shocking to recount. Vount.
The synod of Philly was assassinated. He assaulted him with a weapon - to wit - a long life knife. Before he died, he embraced the greater part of Penn. Stormy passage, large cargo, 180 passengers. They all have long life knifes. Death of an infant. 179 passengers. Death of three rats>>>179 passengers. So. They feigned the issue. The lived a fistic life - what with all their knives and assassinations of synods in Philly. Big synods. Vod. The executor of the estate will not release the horse collars.
The carnival passed. A lot of assassinations took place in its place. The Black Warrior steamship was stolen aout of the sea by a lot of men who commanded hundred of horses.
Aren't these the most extraordinary proceedings? Hee!
Speculations: Things Thought By Americans. Strike the mind with awe. Thus far hast thou come; but thou shalt go no farther.
Charlie Three
Stabbed in the bowels yesterdee
It was an unknown hand that dunnit
The sinking, the sunny, the only summit
Sunny
The Death Of William Poole. I believe he tried to kill himself three times before he spat three times. I went to Body Worlds 2 in Boston yesterday with my mother and my grand-mere. We couldn't stay for too long because my grand-mere had to make it to a New Year's tango marathon in Fall Rivuh. There were not enough gentlemen at the dance marathon, and my GM did not want to dance with ladies. She did not want to ask or pay the gentlemen to dance. SO she danced with a sequined stick before she came home early. Body Worlds 2 is insulting - especially The RIngman. That fool puts all those bodies in stupid positions and then signs his name on the bottom. He is a hustler. That is not how a person kicks a soccerball. That is how an arranged cadaver kicks a soccerball. It was awful. Offal. Horrible. Everyone looked like sniffing dogs. SO this is what I look like inside. My grand-mere wanted to donate her body to Body Worlds 2, but I told her she shouldn't. What a waste. Donate it to medicine or Japanese cinema - anything but Body Worlds 2. What a business they do. The Pornography of Death. Heth. Yeth. This. Is. The. End. Of. It. The attempted assassination caused so much excitement. She was very badly bruised, but none of her bones were broken. Estimated damage to the building: 150$