I've got it mader than I could, seeing jewel-like bars of sky across new carpet and bleached wood, these the crisply glint-hard part of here, where reflection beats the world. No one looks up to see this world because the blind is closed, its shadow fat black strips dividing up the visage of an oak against brilliant autumn skylight all below and superimposed in the table peeking up Blind's skirts while we see a blind that's closed. On this tableau what a feast, real food sitting here to eats while walking somewhere is a tall willowy woman who's never stepped in dog feces won't be a transplantee might live on much after me but I'm not jealous, she's the starving people she bundles maize and split peas on her head her table hasn't scenes or bread she looks behind and no one's led the kid's dropped dead. |