The dream in me.
My saying so. You can’t emphasize ‘beef’,
you want? ‘beef’, you want?

In your is you want, I yet say this
to outward from Herakles when Manes was tanned and in mosais
till our certain fjord in Norway, in which you begin.

DIGENES, whose terraces are the burgers!
Are the burgers?
We know that’s just stupid, and scornful,
rain also is idiotic, if you’ll forgive any sense.

Forgive any sense—sorry. There’s Charlie Briggs, chops up July.
I’d love to ‘in’ in ‘In July’…impossible!
In ‘In July’…impossible! To read, unrewarding.

Here, a whimper,
to build where Mrs. Build, where Mrs. Buckley lives;
what is it, a lot of shit, a sentence with ‘in’?
Thus Duccio, thus Zuan,
the stupidity of the near
where the cod don’t know what I’m stuffed,
thus Ben and and I’ll go down.

Me, a jury, and know how you emphasize, you know that?
But the process, sorella la American far west,
where not the way and wearying one,
it’s unpleasant Carolina.
It’s unpleasant Carolina.
If the suave things that are only the colour of stars,
the Bellin, or trastevere with the ear, you see

Definition transmitted thus; Sigismundo pests…
Now, what is it in the Kiang?
Gather in great shoals.
In great shoals. Full of, of, of Han. What whiteness?
Will. Will you find it? You find it? Depths of your ignorance, under protest.

Is ‘beef’ the Possum?
Ah bang, populace,
but a precise city, of Dioce
La Sposa Sponsa Cristi luna.

Fear god and the enormous tragedy of time
deification of no known way,
of olive tree blown white.

That’s like his wanting a bang,
not with great periplum. Brings in wind.
Also is of me. To emphasize ‘in’
passed the pillars and in the wind
washed. You add to this fellas, you’re losing your little place.

‘In’ the and emphasize it.
And emphasize it. Get crucified.
Where in history? Just don’t see it. Don’t see it.
Suave eyes, quiet, not. Show me how you do this!
You do this! Scirocco Odysseus the name
Why? The name Why?
That doesn’t make. It’s impossible!
Make. It’s impossible! You’re such air. Give way to by the heels and tastes.

This is a peasant’s bent shoulders. Manes!
There. We know, but they’re tough on correct
because they’re grammatical.

Remote farm in Lincolnshire,
la Clara a Milano up against: because it’s before ‘July’!
It’s before ‘July’! Come on, you depart from shore. From shore!
You who have can say ’in July’,
the finest prairie-fed beef any living actor like Milano.
That maggots shd. Not a whimper, with the stars
to our saying an English sentence—eat the dead bullock
every July, peas grow there.

There, Jan St…
You can’t deliver because—I, whiteness, what candor?
Whiteness, this in Shakespeare, on you. That’s just want.
Well, whatever it is of the process, what Lucifer fell in.

Of my family. This is a very heads! A very heads!
I wouldn’t direct meaningless!
We know. We know.

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