Dog wedged in my craw, slopped on my elbow, ass-up, underlit, but enough to read like a jackal. Let’s see, here are my hinds, a black shawl across my back, yanked it with my big sticky toes. Way down there. To sigh, string you up like a buzzy horsefly, count tinkles in the tinfoil. I wheeled out the electric heater for us. And hot tea, buddy. Be dragooning soon, rolling droll to the moon for ice cream cake. No, the ground floor. To binge my pinchy lips on your hair. My body swarthy topcloth lashed at the top, intonating to the neighbors. Here is Blazer: that words return where they never were. Thatch of blue, green, silver thistles, wish I could slur this. Or move with all my clothes on against the door, sort of waltz in white off balance, thigh of mine rising seven time two-ra-loo like dad dropping the soft gizzard in broth. That’s paragraphos. We volley hawks by the jesses, send them, scintillating green hills, and clear out. You laugh at my trousers, kiss my mick chin, that I am dutiful, too humanly faced. Touching tinges, the tine in your eye, look at you, fondling little hinges of a grasshopper, the stuff you love right here, how do you do that? My thing being sound you jiggle, lift out silibant, calling from me distant slipshod like I don’t know, a sparrow someplace. I’m afraid to pay rent, fix my headlights, partake, I think you know how flimsy plaited flailing I intimate the fields. When I was little, whipping heaps of leaves into shape, covered the a’s, half of the b’s in the dictionary, played baseball with a wiffle while Dad cleaned fish tossing the awful silver heads anywhere I pleased.