To day I wen to theo per a oh ow Il oven o thing moret han to bed an cingst ills it ting down.

I have a fleece my warmest
square shawl
tournaments in velvet lace and peacock and hose;
horseradishes
nodules
My frockish and mountain glaze,
the solvent new england batdrive down
it is my worry-ish prunes that are
hankies folded now and again, dri-fitted
hashrag, mice cloths, a little
ear in general. Tympany anyone

and they'll say I have this

pioneer women kind of furniturebody.

It is in assent.
Bobs forcast through it weak lines
running down my name in hay
the other screened-in
chamberlight, Flowers in, Out in
sleeves that went written down.
Just look at this lisp of women

inside their hampsters, respectively

ala atelier, trying on the numbers,

& oo, parsnips.