One look from the woman galloping by

And my glasses fell off my nose. My wig turned white,

The moon got off the bus with a lemon pie, the lake trembled.

When she wants to take a bath, she leaves her shoes on

And the last thing she excuses herself to remove are her riding gloves.

George Washington kissed her once, mistaking her for a patriot named Madeline.

She was the granddaughter of a music teacher and she had a rosy complexion.

Everyone’s babbling and crying out about the sunshine downtown and taking long naps in it.

No one’s ever getting up from their spot. O bottomless cup

The billows of dark fog penetrate even

The saucer I set you down into.

Someone get me the waiter, or the bus boy with my check.

—I’ll look over the taxes and everything I’ve eaten

And tear it apart, right beneath the trembling mouth of God!