D. Boon's scalp as Earth.

There I sit now,
In this smallest oasis,
Just like a date,
Brown, sweet through, oozing gold, lusting
For the round mouth of a girl,
But even more for girlish,
Ice-cold, snow-white, cutting
Incisors: for after these
Pants the heart of all hot dates.

All good things approach their goal crookedly. Like cats, they arch their backs, they purr inwardly over their approaching happiness: all good things laugh.

Could I be a character actor, playing a part in someone else's absurdest narrative?

If you had given Emily Dickinson five dollars in 1864, your investment would now be worth more than "this new Value in the Soul -- Supremest Earthly Sum."

... what I want is to occupy a site from which quantities are no longer perceived, and from which all accounts are banished.

Turtles exploding over Istanbul...

Penguins plunged against the Sphinx...

For if I felt bombs were caterpillars...

A barnacled wreath on the moon-squid's head...

Elkbombs will perk their ears...

so you're
saying
that the
meaning
of life
is...
EELS??