Just an amusing deadpan with eyes stuck in wire
chased by simple shapes spirals, thin blue lines
what really is to be said what to make hidden
that hasn't been scooped to enable revelation
by steam shovels. All this talk of subjects and authors
on the deck won't change that, an impending death
or anything else for a politics steeped in splinters.
So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage leaf to make an apple pie;
and at the same time a great she-bear, coming up the street pops its head
into the shop. "What! no soap?" So he died, and she very imprudently
married the barber; and there were present the Picninnies, and the Grand
Panjandrum himself, with the little round button at top, and they all
fell to playing the game of catch as catch can, till the gunpowder ran
out at the heels of their boots.
-- Samuel Foote
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