V. FRAN
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hould i entirely ask of god whyon the alert neck of this brittle whoredelicately wobbles an improbably distinct face,and how these wooden big two feet concludehappeningly the unfirm drooping bloatedcalvesi would receive the answer moreor less deserved, Young fellow go in peace.which i do, being as Dick Mid once notedlifting a Green River (here’s to youse)“a bloke wot’s well behaved” . . . and always tryto not wonder how let’s say elationcauses the bent eyes thickly to protrude-- or why her tiniest whispered invitationis like a clock striking in a dark house
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