I’m sure a sweet shit like you will understand.

Hey K

—got lost in my graygreen grassblue overcoat with the Austrian stitching and the military collar and consequently didn’t quite make the meeting . . . feel in my sleeve, the grease where I slid is still slick as a slide for otters.

Bill, after turning and tossing it over I’ve decided not to honor your father and mother any longer or remember a thing you’ve said or be obedient to your command or respect a single belief you’ve been blind enough to believe or wave your flag or share in any sense the same feeling you might have felt or think a thought you might have thought without first wiping off the seat because even when I touch you it will be to touch myself the slow circular way a bear rubs its back and behind against a tree to scratch its back and behind and not the tree, and no, my fur’s not for you, baby, I’m keeping it flattened in the fat of my thighs like a leaf in a Holy Book, bet your boots, so that’s my answer when there’s been no question and that will be the reason why I am continuing to employ and otherwise keep oiled and up to snuff—in short—in service, all those habits you intolerate and would have had me fire even though they’ve been with me as long as my boobs and like with Rastus my relations with them have always been all right and responsible and floppy-hatted, gentlewomanly, and say, they have families, habits have, you realize that? relations like uncles, alcoholic and hateful, who screw nieces with the same passion they’d use to piss in a bottle, always brawn and ancient with old booze, that’s what you bring to my bed, come to think, an old brown bottle-nozzle, well, I tell you, instead let’s pretend we’re two new copper-colored pennies thrown on the world at random by the US Mint and let’s have just about that much to do with one another now or in a future which is to be fuckless between us as furniture.

OK, Koh? OK?

Dear Professor Kohler:

I was unable to continue or complete . . . I have many monetary problems . . . a bleeding bride . . . horns on my head and corns on my feet . . . and besides I was made wretchedly ill recently by raw data . . . disingested tabulars and shat words . . . The Dean has my doctor’s diagram and dossier if you’d like to see it.

O you must believe me. Kohlee, I was coming, coming, coming, when I was caught in a column of kiddie cars ... and kept . . . and kept . . . the kids, the cars . . . and couldn’t, couldn’t ...

The fallen sky oppressed me quite,

I could not get to sleep last night