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 Anything difficult was superseded by vaunted.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.