Drawing paper down from the cupboard           sky
goes in at the top             scribble scrabble
green line grass for the bottom             filling

A woman came down the hill from her farm
with her two little children
to have her neighbor cut

Human mothers are right to take such exceptional care of their babies; after all, even from birth, there is no animal which is quite like man. Yes, even as a child, Man differs from the babies of other species. 

How exactly does one soothe the savage breast? Surely not only with music—and if, indeed, with music, with what kind of music, then? Gypsy lullabies, whale song, Gregorian chants, two-part inventions?

Two girls like angels enthroned beside urns blessed us with coffee. They had made a little sign with the prices neatly lettered. Everything was clear—they had made all the decisions.

Psst. This is just for you, whoever you are, and not for any of the others. I am so excited by the possibility that you will be the one to read this that I cannot contain myself any longer. 

After long years of inner matter coming down out of the mountains of my central tract,

How hard it was to fit the last crayon into the bulging box; like the last person who pushes onto the elevator and is resented by the insiders.

Aside from the downstate confluence of Tri-Borough, George Washington and Throgs Necks Bridges, I have placed a kleenex box at a few of the second-string stress points which parallel the New York State Thruway,—at Syracuse which is on my kitchen table and at Albany which is next to the toaster.

Remember how we’d gape at those g-strings and pasties, and giggle and yell and leave blue-balled and pretending not to be?