Mer à chef et

Water upon water only it was light upon day. 

To not know what a speech act was

The fruiting 

Having been there before 

maybe 

No

do you mean 

I forget

Mann

To be among and taste and still live, to wonder at the living

Blue inn

The failed painting innocent to itself again. 

HC

Who said that the mother is the one who makes something of her love; without the loving and the making, what is?

Living with fresco (Anamosa)

And while no, ye mighty, it is not the worst thing of things that, as Chuck Jones did for the coyote, few care no more for the enchantment, we were meant to, in that being and seeming pooled into miasma to dip the pen, from here, begin

wide hand hip hold

sleeping soft, “infant softness,” and awake once more and in between is it you I knew to always meet the yes reduced to such and such expanse unfixed for love of fathom, at the clasp

Birthpangs in triplicate

Surface obesiance. I cave more for. Ambient chernobyls.