Nutmeg SongSamuel Amadon
Who's there? Have you pits ground as that else we passed on those fern traders from out south who taught us to turn letters? For a paper mouth I've used Henry's latest on the Taj Mahal & elm he wants planted for (or was it, rather, instead, a sycamore?) spring. India & still he takes a cab. Do you know what I feed this thing? Only crab berries & loose dumplings. Fingers in my head fell all over the kitchen cloth & it became clear I've been long alone here. I won't soon off. & since you've gone I've got nerves & a cough to scab over that neat white cloth folded near which is what you got on stars says to myself in a gasoline dark we can leap the high shelf.
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