“Hello, nothing.” (And not wonderfully.)
The hot lines of a double simile:
what a used-up device. (And what a green mess.)
Closes eyes and repeats baby 3 more times.
Takes the elevator to floor number 4
without speaking French.
Ah, Reverend Poems. And his Quick Hodgepodge.
Them all walking too fast down Straight Street,
frightened of an erection.
The mundane will never feel that good
again. (He thought a moment
as the dog broke into a fit of laughter.)
The distant buzz of blackberry.
Put that into your yellow book.
Then the President went off on God.
It was such a shame that
he’d spent the whole morning with meaning.
