Anvil in a Lace Bootie

She disappeared into a whiteness of mist above the billowing waves. Far from home she flew to dwell in the comforting echo of caves. With blended thoughts, dark and light woven, she sat, content to wait. Oh, what revenge she would deliver. Oh, what horrible fate!

when one is old one no longer springs from one’s chair instead one rises with care

Prindelilah Hastings never was in sight. She hid all day under hay and crept out in the night. She always carried a jar of tar and a stick with which to write, ‘Prindelilah Hastings was here! Oh yes! That’s right!’  

raymond chandler’s head was often found in bed but only when he slept and never when he wept while gnashing of his teeth raymond ate a bar of heath sitting on the lawn raymond drank ’til dawn a shaky quivering husk he drank then until dusk staggering to and fro he dreamed up Phil Marlowe

triangles, i tell you! framed rectangular in white blue stripes curved here green stripes rigid there gold grey red the evil eyes peer! cruel laughter i fall back insensate the night trembles on

He wove a sash of chocolate He wove a sash of ice When asked to choose which one to wear He said, ‘They’re both so nice. I’ll wear them stuck together with a paste made out of rice.’ And off he went down the lane trotting like a collie He paused beside a prickly bush […]

behold turkeys not seen the bent fence trots by the yellow serentiy of phantoms breeze shivered waiting

Rabe meadow begins to fall Rabe meadow begins to autumn Rabe meadow welcomes all Please do not smoke even if you’ve got ’em

solipsism embedded in perfume self-negating ombudsmen need not apply the pen of your aunt is not i repeat not on the table

i refuse to rhyme june with that night sky disc or that other word for melody i won’t do it and don’t even think about asking me to rhyme it with a common kitchen utensil standing in for the concept of making love