Back to work, cut the mammy-jamming you swine! winsome knights over the bilge. with ya yarning thing. what tyrant tries your patois overkill is the ruin of father and their hybrid status. Heavens to Betsy! you punked out flinger. Sorting geologic mist in the anviled strata.... cough she coughforcough forcough's sake. A dog in the manger'd do better than your slattern keening and howling.

Jill likes to splash it on: say she was writing under the table, the logic of camera and film, well Gary Cooper couldn't do better to illustrate the bending eye of cinema close up cut and dissolve .... shite! my mighties what blindy-eyed gas are you yapping about now?Have with me will ya?

You jester Queen. Sob of the Four in quietus and bodkin paved bookmakings.... so we shall see the end of start in the flat space of your travail...

Mona dont care for such botheration her succinct self is the arrival of time and its bucking calf.

She comes to school donning petals hairnet pulled down past her eyeballs,
this way she's hot to horn in the bullies.
Lovers streak her past.
Nothing lasts 'cept lasting you'll see she warns.

Back to Paris: and the old man'shacking the substance of trysts and takes the gloves off as it comes to the vacuous cavern. That all men've stopped. Care and worn, and philosophy in the garret. And I don't refer to Pat Garrett. Billy's the satyr rider, and she don't need no kid to gallop hell-bound for leather either.

So shush and love and lovings.