Wednesday, March 18, 2015


Jill has a  crow but it's not dead. The sea is high as the wind clutter and the rail tussled up against the factotum of weights and the red plight of the scar   .... Jill's won her red as long as long as she remembers the thrust of freight
   and the tiller boring the straight sea ... there's no one here in  the tail of the barracuda thundering does it thunder she's asking
  but her heart beat  wondering at the awkward glance of the geese the queer walk of the gull over an ice piece-meal in the winter's almost ending .

           Something like that anyhow! colis!detabernacle!  Franny'd never wonder she'd moved it along like an old poor or something 
  like a ringbaily simile circus
   Franny wouldn't worry . She'd buck it along like any two cent novel.

    Wouldn't' she