There Is An Old American

Readers Are Not Sheep, And Not Every Pen Tempts Them.

I Am Sentimental,’ She Said. ‘i Could Dissect A Koala But Not Its Baby. I Like The Words Damozel, Eglantine, Elegant. I Love When You Kiss My Elongated White Hand.

He Was Afraid Of Touching His Own Wrist. He Never Attempted To Sleep On His Left Side, Even In Those Dismal Hours Of The Night When The Insomniac Longs For A Third Side After Trying The Two He Has.

The Summer Night Was Starless And Stirless, With Distant Spasms Of Silent Lightning.

I Have No Desires, Save The Desire To Express Myself In Defiance Of All The World’s Muteness.