The Outfit

I work for an outfit. They are in on it. Take the waterfallings on the sidewalk, the picnics and these two only offices locked. A broad veiw of the situation calls for coming into a picture of working, me and my desk, you in yours, a flaying, a defenestration. Formatively, I was doing something and …

nothing

It is lonely in the desk, nothing. You read a little and look things up, push on the sparkling garment whose sleeves are this crisp. One begins, depending, and it shines out of my eyes when we meet. The thing is to do. There’s jelly around books and staplers when you place them in a …

Seven

tired of burning the stadium surface white as with, roped off, long houred sitting a kid with shirt burnt, some lawyers, some one else the singular swayings of birch afraid I stole a book today extra fine, like Pollock pointing to it ting-ing the can with pebbles