ÓÓÓconfidence of those roads sad attics a smile from her could be unwelcome would be dust back from Bingo Rembrandt alone never telling Noel played the tin whistle all grace notes half-forgotten now blocking the way green knit cap almost malicious blotting pad and a pen less than no money almost defiant ‘I’ll go(…)
her own brother the best Catholic families bed-life a bosom without nipples which funeral to go to a classmate at Yale nothing in return someone from home eyes only for David L. Jenkins more than friendship sister Amy married a classmate between her shoulders without her nightgown lace, satin second floor landing helpless persons(…)
too busy to leave out of hubbub cheerful little cries quivering voice an egg for Irma any taste at all half attractive, half repellent turn by the church the Protestant parts hallow lagoons son of a dentist among olives hazy green of olives curiosity and kindness thick and damp no ignoramus courtesy itself flounced out(…)
the long voyage dangling greasy rags brackish freckles with satisfied spite male and female twins equally slapped about the beggar woman had pinched her bare feet spanking dueling scars replaced by villas paved path two women live in the ruin also turning gray like a hiker avoiding it refused to take head of not(…)
to be just welcome even partial intimacies or God great oaks and chestnuts tied provisionally to a tree the acorns fell pattering on me not quite yet extinguished ride roughshod over a religion a man is not a woman covered with loose stories and tufts of heather peak upon peak little enough masses of(…)
so cruel fleas, germs not exactly a room Adelle had not forgotten he would write pickle cucumbers, make jam a tendency to mist up a layer of sycophancy a student that’s not really a student a passing shadow Carpenter’s glue salty cheese his memories ‘cross out erred’ proletarian hammer blows hotheads and imbeciles
hadn’t heard, hadn’t listened ‘I’ll make the tea’ cooked but cold killed then plucked parched lips fully clothed ‘she is shouting’ on the dark veranda make his cocoa in the old Remington like a little dog at Lela’s heals a little reward only he had not known feather’s plucked zephyr breathes better than good the(…)
they could not have been better moisture in the wheat riots in Belfast and Derry best to refuse she trained herself not to ask figures running in agreement memories of Morris a calm, hovering force a nun at some point too many notes let the piano do the grace notes this solemnity what? dignified on(…)
from grey-pink heavily nibbled by mice and then, then it’s furry breath over the cloister roof a slammed door the gate of sorrows that short slope into searing light impossible to know as moisture is drawn from it not once finally footprints to the horizon built of mud bricks only when the(…)
