the long greens and yellows

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Hunchy Hackett

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I am scarcely the outer world

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not sure that it was not a parcel

USBQ20222418

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there were connoisseurs

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preferred to have his back to his destination

USBQ20222420

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Watt’s was a funambulistic stagger

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science of the locked door

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a fine full apron of green baize

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and he sits in the red gloom

USBQ20222424

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premonitions of harmony are irrefragable

USBQ20222425

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the Laurel into Daphne

USBQ20222426

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modes of ululation – bitter, hollow, mirthless

USBQ20222427

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onions and peppermints – turn and turn about

USBQ20222428

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figments of the id

USBQ20222429

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all the gold and white and blue

USBQ20222430

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choon the piano

USBQ20222431

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a ravanastron hung, on the wall, from a nail, like a plover

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the strings are in flitters

USBQ20222433

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simple games that time plays with space

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this hairbreadth departure

USBQ20222435

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a little plated trowel

USBQ20222436

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the stairs that never seemed the same stairs

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a pillow of old words, for a head

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a little off the hooks

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a picture hanging on the wall, from a nail

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the circle sailed steadfast in its white skies, with its patient breach forever below

USBQ20222441

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like the centuries that fall, from the pod of eternity

USBQ20222442

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tenth-rate xenium

USBQ20222443

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a fragment of rigmarole reread

USBQ20222444

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this long chain of consistence

USBQ20222445

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the three frogs

USBQ20222446

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the theatre of a similar conglutination

USBQ20222447

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floccillating his hard hat

USBQ20222448

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red, bluer, yellowist

USBQ20222449

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in our windowlessness, in our bloodheat, in our hush

USBQ20222450

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through this jocose this sniggering muck

USBQ20222451

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peers in peace

USBQ20222452

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except in moments of delirium, or during the service of the mass

USBQ20222453

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the sun, so long obnubilated

USBQ20222454

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The Mathematical Intuition of the Visicelts

USBQ20222455

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two by two the eyes put forth their curious beams

USBQ20222456

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an occasional raucous sally

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the issuing smokes mingled to vanish

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the fricatives in particular were pleasing

USBQ20222459

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the grey air aswirl with vain entelechies

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in his skull the voices whispering their canon were like a patter of mice

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Watt was an old rose now, and indifferent to the gardener

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threne

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