The first mate fell to the deck, a hole in his head where an eye once looked out onto the world. Boguslaw pulled the first mate up from the deck of the flotilla, and gathering him into the sling of his arms stuck his thumb in the hole where an eye once looked out onto the world. The man in the hat, his overcoat snagged, said to Boguslaw ‘…push it in further…’. The first mate moaned as Boguslaw dug his thumb deeper into the black socket of his eye. Boguslaw fell to his left knee and crossed his chest with his right hand, the first mate wailing for mercy, the man in the hat trying to free his coat from the Bishop’s thumb.
Out behind the barker’s table the harridan’s sister sat under a hive of morning glories, her hair done up in bows and ribbons, the smile on her face as bright as summer sun in August. The alms man sat beneath a great yawing oak canopy, the smile on his face bitten with distemper. The legless man sat in a hunker under the sky, the corners of his mouth drawn upwards forming a slack jawed smile. Empanada de Amore sat under a yellow jaundice moon, a beaming smile on her face. A corn-faced man sat under a broiling hot sun in Sonora el Camino, his teeth yellow with pipe tar. 27½ jigs to the leeside, corporeal. ‘…the rain will fall when its damn good and ready…’ said the alms man grudgingly. ‘…what do you know about falling…?’ said the legless man challengingly. ‘…I knows what I knows…’ said the alms man, ‘…and that’s that...’. The sky didn’t fall that day, or the next, but the rain fell in sheets, scouring the ground like a trackman’s broom. ‘…horses run and that’s that…’ said the alms man to the legless man, who not giving a thither crossed his arms like this +. That was that, or so.
Its never too late to learn a new trick. Her breasts were hard as chestnuts. Wait for me in the yawning, I will bring you a bucket of fen. Her breasts were harder than Christmas chestnuts. Wait for me in the dawning, I will bring you a bucket of slough. Her chestnut breast were harder than Christmas candy. His thoughts screamed in his head, a child’s scribbler gone awry. That was that (+) or so. The harridan sat under a starlit sky counting the stitches in her skirt, 1000 + 2, or so. The sky didn’t fall that day, or the day after. Tell me a story. Tell me the story of your life. Tell me. Tell me how you came to be. Tell me the story. The sky alit with stars the harridan counted the stitches in her skirt, 1002 + 3.
Out behind the barker’s table the harridan’s sister sat under a hive of morning glories, her hair done up in bows and ribbons, the smile on her face as bright as summer sun in August. The alms man sat beneath a great yawing oak canopy, the smile on his face bitten with distemper. The legless man sat in a hunker under the sky, the corners of his mouth drawn upwards forming a slack jawed smile. Empanada de Amore sat under a yellow jaundice moon, a beaming smile on her face. A corn-faced man sat under a broiling hot sun in Sonora el Camino, his teeth yellow with pipe tar. 27½ jigs to the leeside, corporeal. ‘…the rain will fall when its damn good and ready…’ said the alms man grudgingly. ‘…what do you know about falling…?’ said the legless man challengingly. ‘…I knows what I knows…’ said the alms man, ‘…and that’s that...’. The sky didn’t fall that day, or the next, but the rain fell in sheets, scouring the ground like a trackman’s broom. ‘…horses run and that’s that…’ said the alms man to the legless man, who not giving a thither crossed his arms like this +. That was that, or so.
Its never too late to learn a new trick. Her breasts were hard as chestnuts. Wait for me in the yawning, I will bring you a bucket of fen. Her breasts were harder than Christmas chestnuts. Wait for me in the dawning, I will bring you a bucket of slough. Her chestnut breast were harder than Christmas candy. His thoughts screamed in his head, a child’s scribbler gone awry. That was that (+) or so. The harridan sat under a starlit sky counting the stitches in her skirt, 1000 + 2, or so. The sky didn’t fall that day, or the day after. Tell me a story. Tell me the story of your life. Tell me. Tell me how you came to be. Tell me the story. The sky alit with stars the harridan counted the stitches in her skirt, 1002 + 3.
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