what i used to say was take my hand somebody that was before i stood on an apartment roof with the wind and fog mixing in my hair or in the heat of august with the sun early, harsh, blazing, somber and i standing there all alone...

MARIANNE tossed the red curls from her eyes, intent on her work. She squirmed in her desk for a better position, her fingers tightening around the crayon. Her nose wrinkled—rabbit fashion, and a pink tongue crept to the corner of her mouth. She drew in her breath, then very slowly lettered. M...A...R...I... .

Mallards lie low (When we walk off) With their blue-green Watersilk. Elusive with the Cloud and sun, Fugitive, They watch And whisper us To pass...

No drinking until five and it's always five or so something or other; hours, years, seconds or maybe apples or peaches which can't be divided into one another or multiplied for that matter—one never knows, and even fewer care these days at least so it seems which may or may not be obvious to the casual (or otherwise) observer. And so we'll raise our glass it being now five past five in the P.M. of our Lord nineteen hundred and the devil may (he will anyway) take the rest. So drink hearty gentlemen and the ladies too for the glass is falling and the sand is scattered on the dusty floor...