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.
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