his imperial saw her as his good luck charity only he finally, begrudgingly on December 2 a thousand diamonds
Folds
Eraser of the past (fillings from Michael Chabon)
when almost everyone wore a hat Sontag had fifty words not from anywhere some readers somewhere bits ever smaller for shipmates big bloody far-ranging in Jewish ethics not the red cape anymore re-trying knots the eraser of the past
Translated as (wickets from Franz Kafka)
the original German ‘dearest Max’ ‘yours, Franz Kafka’ translated as Brod was ‘why do’ tap Hungarian marginals something akin to appreciation indescribably sick of this her prior inattentiveness
Firewood, lanterns (twigs from Peter Allison)
The flute in the fields (tunes from Susan Cheever)
back then came to be shaded by maples under Concord’s great elms Emerson gave biggest little genius’ grouped together a shadow or good sense that house the flute in the fields conceited, laborious on the hay my bad tongue sexy female outcasts hickory trees and white acorns
In Sussex (hills from Jane Austen)
in Sussex as much disappointment as pleasure everything but prudent parties on the fates were made nearly twenty
After a night of crying (chips from Evie Wyld)
Loose hours to fill (grains from Toby Ferris)
a friend of her friend for fucks sake, Dan cousin of gorse had given away names for Bruegel the Elder loose hours to fill one of at least thirteen operas your cow mind wintry concerns of Breda to his deeper blackness from somewhere, Anne Crisscross not circle viscerally, not viscerally how big(…)
Pleasurable ductility (bleats from Laurence Stern)
silk breeches Swiss and Scotch excepted rose up an inch taller said I to myself his father’s portmanteau an affair with the moon I fear forbidding it looked as if it looked more than myself swinging reproaches when the heart flies out pleasurable ductility with the best address
Dog and gun (bubbles from Anne Brontë)
my sister Rose make habitable slightest mourning sometime, Mama by drooping lids dog and gun
