Pronunciation Has Made Many An Innocent Word

The Sky Lay Over The City Like A Map Showing The Strata Of Things And The Big Full Moon Toppled Over In A Furrow Like The Abandoned Wheel Of A Gun Carriage On A Sunset Field Of Battle And The Shadows Walked Like Cats And I Looked Into The White And Ghostly Interior Of Things And Thought Of You And I Looked On Their Structural Outsides And Thought Of You And Was Lonesome.

I Am Really Only Myself When I'm Somebody Else Whom I Have Endowed With These Wonderful Qualities From My Imagination.

A Vacuum Can Only Exist, I Imagine, By The Things Which Enclose It.

Spinach And Champagne. Going Back To The Kitchens At The Old Waldorf. Dancing On The Kitchen Tables, Wearing The Chef's Headgear. Finally, A Crash And Being Escorted Out By The House Detectives.

I Take A Sun Bath And Listen To The Hours, Formulating, And Disintegrating Under The Pines, And Smell The Resiny Hardihood Of The High Noon Hours. The World Is Lost In A Blue Haze Of Distances, And The Immediate Sleeps In A Thin And Finite Sun.