O NO!! i have known something in the smell of slow-motion trees and lightning in the nighttime. this is the shape of a crippled woman in the swimming pool; a strange fluidity of movement in the whimsy-heart of the missus with the crumbly-down broken branches. mrs. starns next door yawns so that youth and twilight rush out past her stickly stiff fingers, brownly stroking the antediluvian pith god encumbers the elderly with. i don't wonder about mrs. starns because we have that much in common. settled quanitly in our peat moss grooves. but mrs. starns creeps up my stairs with her witch fingers and, hovering above my moon bed, whispers under my nightcap everything i knew. o mint and mustard; punch and judy. the elderly are not trammeled; it’s the whimsy-heart and logic-brain combined into one glowy orb; the two internal antagonists. mr discussion, i miss the harrison street mystery and the end of a kite-string, that green thing sprouting in secrecy and in camus' ignorance. and just don't explain this.
halfway from coal halfway from diamonds
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