a window new-painteddo not openprivate garden rosethe language in a laughendless musicbeating a dog to deathfield full of hazesomething broke us baddark doorhe could not find his whipour old candlea way almost to be
such a noble sacrifice the forest madein its battle with the sawit deserves no less than a full plantation of stumpserasers white with chalkerected in loving forgetfulnessof the blackboarda stone tossed into still wateralways lands in the center of a targetof spreading yearshow well we know them thenthese unknown dead
my breath rattledthe pigeons went quietdoors come to be great friendswith the deadI eat my afterselfand depart into storythe coroner will be calledto examine my joy
death and I ate the hourswith full satisfactionat a little place atea six-discourse dinnerat home ate sad newsate a body ate a hearta thin piece of me likelyto contract
who takes an hour to makedespair an enemyand their doubtful body trustin anotherif he should suddenly diethere is nothing but whatis undercover nowis life therefore a letter from myselfwhich to answer I willbe accountable foramong other things I wishon the cards
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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