This is a recording of the Emergency Broadcast Network
The way to Never Never Land goes through here.
O things make sense if you hammer them into your head:
MY BLACK SUIT
The mahouts gathered round the rock candy
TREATISE FOR THE ELECTION OF SPIRITS
Here at the Metaphysics Conference, I lost my diagram in transit, went back over the river-road.
There was nothing. Wept.
Nothing divulges the way a flood does.
People were all around me. I don't deny their perfume.
The second question was Tuesday. (Strike that.)
I got out of bed and had to deal with circularity.
I excavated finely.
Circumambulation of the Globe on Fire, now that's a window I'd like to jump through.
The pretense was presence.
Just about then the panther returned to the swamps of private Florida.
A flu or phloem spread over the panhandle of Oklahoma.
It's this way for the transmigration of the soul. [Sic.]
She kept at her blank-stare response-syndrome.
She terminated the telegram with endearments and kisses.
I didn't vouchsafe anything.
The universe revolves on truancy.
"Treatise" was written after reading some Noah Eli Gordon & thinking about driving through rural Pennsylvania. EBN should really be EBS -- the Emergency Broadcast System—that which announced tornados & inclement weather to young, impressionable boys in the Midwest.