Until thoroughly decomposed

TEXT (see p. 123)

Six eggs, half a kilo of elephants, and a tin of text. Stir well until indemnified. Serves 25, 36 on weekends, 5 in a leap year.

"This will not (therefore) have been a book." Already it is too late. Hurricane Ian MacCaskill is a found poem. There can be no guarantees, and they must be very small elephants. No two numbers are alike and I, too, have lost my umbrella. The mixture is ineluctably citational, yet beyond repetition. Never such elephants, such umbrellas again — they are blown inside out by the hurricane. Shantih Shantih Shantih. Dark dark dark.

Saloon. Saloon. Metacommentary? Fragile? "!" said the. Do not egg the rhubarb until thoroughly decomposed. "It means its own context without meaning itself." (Liz.) Riboflavin. Odd disjointed ballykettlings. Wash it until thoroughly decomposed. Marry the cabbage until utterly pop.

Salut, Salute! I am not Woking, not was meant to be. Is anything? No, but a pencil must be blue. Fin, again -- isn't everyone?

Bathyscope? "For the pong is the greatest of all good whiffs." And now, ladies and jellyyaks, the double Y! Please welcome your toast — Germy Boodle... He said:

So who is Old Khayyam, anyway?