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.