In the tumbled-down now there's too much material, culled from pretty boys that don't notice me and tattooed ones that do, and I'm certain there's at least one dreamer soaking eyes into me who knows all the twisted lyrics invoking pretty little horses.

and then he began to sing, along with the ghostly villagers

an island hidden in the sound holds treasure

The television was playing reruns of Mr. Ed, but it was hard to hear because of the flock of birds in the palm tree. I’d sometimes imagined the birds coming through the window, a swarming of pink cotton mouths, mawing everything in sight.

First have a good window seat

The Fat Man took a sip of whiskey, then replaced his glass on the table next to his fedora. …

The lace fell through the fingers, wrinkled and nimble they had become too used to avoiding the finite objects in life which needed attention. The white cotton sat loosely on her shoulders, the collar exposed the skin which had become dry and her shoulder

Dread and drudgery sour each day

Gringovitch sat on the big leather chair in Olivia’s suite. Before him on a coffee table were the nude sketches he’d made of her earlier that day.

Five micros

He almost died, but hasn’t been this much alive ever.

“Outis of Utopia” my found name! / I'll inscribe it soon as the tide goes out.

I tell people that we leave out food for the creatures to appease the skunk gods.

The man who will lead you can be nothing if not already found underneath the light-heartedness of heaven, (dawn) if not under the light-heartedness of snow. He would have to have happiness already sewn into his soul. He bears no burdens

He saw in her something fierce and wild and gently led her to his open palm...