Summer is almost
over. The music
(I take the title to mean that we are trying to make up a story in three word intervals)
is about to
fuse dodecaphonic discipline
into an excruciatingly
pleasant melody, reminiscent
of nothing. Meanwhile
Mermaids gather for
the daily milking
of sea cows.
And with that,
because it’s liquid,
but not drinkable,
my thirst went
"Hey! ‘Went’ isn’t
on the playbill
. Where’s ‘The Mikado’?"
Einstein’s thumb then
was struck by