#121

Yestermorn the rose's day. The great wets ain't presiding. The whitherword of waundering wims. See sign and cross and store. Delantsy's cheers: the lot of them. Revolver tame, rejoice. Sail from the inside, seize through glass: the older readers reddening. Tom-ta-tom-ta-tom pursuit in pages a paster's pace. "White," we say him, "white." We'll passencore the adage.

Johnny's word to flesh is nuance. Wer it proud: an e to my ean. A gap that appures to hold. And Erica says to her E'd-word: mete. And he athe what he ears is meat. Utter-butter, calorie. Corpus. The manger's tragectorie of rest or rants passed. A-spic-a-span-a-spett a lost white dresses. Trim it, days and nights. Savoir. Cre-care so not to swell. Or fast to become unfettered.

Ho, tell 'im what's to come. Hi' it, non, in werdsome phrases. Assay, essene, in keen greene words: Do not d-nay whithout 'im.