Greek fish soup this week taste the name scrawny fruit also richer ‘as it pleased me’ there is a timeline covered in sand chase a bird naive is not not even now a hock sad, I said happy in a sad way low volume
Folds
In the midst of perpetual riddles (crickles from Boris Pasternak)
tracing a cross a rain of clots frozen puddles smokey with snow Siberia and abroad midst of perpetual riddles pedagogue and popularizer embraced by woods by right of friendship only the daughters the color of shame crickles of sweat
Tale of sneers (locks from Francesca Wade)
state of calm neighbors in pajamas inroad Virginia saw the works of Darwin with bags and boxes in Mecklenburgh Square exclusion from tale of sneers and locked doors completing, sweetening war-terror it will break the clutch exactly who a girl who died Pound’s mother on books instead August 1939 obstructed by sandbags(…)
Delivered from inconvenience (dots from Thomas Hardy)
dreary, dreary train I wept instead rather dusty a terrible slating delivered from the inconvenience of no tune pulseless and bloodless of some crossing of two footpaths this frugal woman
Monkeys, beggars (paws from Paolo Cognetti)
I left months, merchants dearest and most difficult monkeys, beggars ridges, gorges valleys in the sun forty-seven animals and men was it a road gnats and ferns in jute sacks had mutinied secret needs our yellow home at 4700 meters
Eat or be (antenna from Anne Sverdrup-Thygeson)
three answers in the form of dung similarly wasps are useful eat or be 200,000,000 insects for every human nostrils of walruses when wings wings were has eyes on the penis maybe an old bats nest decomposition are take beetles assisted by bacteria
Good fortune to misfortune (rays from Alfred Doblin)
the former cement worker like fate in convict stripes sorting, gluing shoe shops wall without end with the summer cluster soap is ‘he’ll freeze’ the cold all year in bed at the back offspring, twelve first the queer, now the reds Franz says good fortune to misfortune this egg whisk happiness, outcry always(…)
Oblivion waits (teeth from George Orwell)
moth-eaten already along with 7,000 books you-be-damned air moth-eaten already oblivion waits as a squirrel holds a nut rag mats and bedroom slops this was Flaxman a crawling reverence for money nasty, ladylike tea shop lived to be 1000 illuminated nothing would not sit down cake-scented air far more with cold haste buffalo’s(…)
Crook or mystic (two-tones from Leslie Jamison)
finally over too his name was Joe his parent’s couldn’t how could a little boy know skeptical of skepticism crook or mystic two spoons self-concerning doubts about her doubt bare winter who can blame strained comforters ‘not a party exactly’ his basketball jersey the architecture of possible some useless god Don isn’t broken(…)
Or Paula (whimpers from Thomas Hardy)
gorgeous liveries more than common truants no narrow gamut or Paula did not decline as her architect the good the gods broken colored glass strong shadows nude, garnished walls
