A Portobello blue sky, a blue chattel dress blue sky blue. A sharecropper’s yellow moon; this substantial form; goodness me, so this is what has become of me, corruptibility, incorruptibility, a sharecropper’s oxen scythe taking me off just above the knee. A spoiled milk sky, a creamery of blue-steel, pox-clouds sullying a plainness of sky, whey separated from curd; lactose bigoted. No; a bowery sky, scullery with grime and sludge, a mire of brown-sky, a stain of sky; a debasement. Skeletal trees tonsured with pre-solstice fretting, branches at arms-length, a crapulence of rot and wither. Today I will purchase draperies for my bedroom window. And these nasty polemarks: [and] jammy tarts, the ones great aunt Alma made in the summer kitchen, crimping pastry into taffeta frills, and my great uncle Jim standing on the front porch, his good eye threaded with sweat, waving at tourist’s cars, and my dad eating date squares and rarebits of toast, and me, sitting on the back stoop counting to one hundred backwards, making daisy chains with whistle grass and nettle fens, the afternoon fading into August night.
Please, I abjure you, repress and re-censor this Grammatik infanticide, for he knows not of what he speaks, and, might he/I add, Holden Caulfield was a crummy bastard, I/he much prefer Ackley, the great Nietzschean tightrope walker, imbiber of cocktails and gimlets. Cigarette paper leaves stained nicotine brown, yellow, the advent of death and wither. In decay and perish, such life and advent, an august autumn, the time of fester and blain.
Please, I abjure you, repress and re-censor this Grammatik infanticide, for he knows not of what he speaks, and, might he/I add, Holden Caulfield was a crummy bastard, I/he much prefer Ackley, the great Nietzschean tightrope walker, imbiber of cocktails and gimlets. Cigarette paper leaves stained nicotine brown, yellow, the advent of death and wither. In decay and perish, such life and advent, an august autumn, the time of fester and blain.
