News Headlines From The Homer Noble Farm

I That case-hardened cop. A bull moose in a boghole brought him to a stop. II From his grassy knoll he has you in his crosshairs, the accomplice mole. III The sword once a share. This forest a fresh-faced farm. This stone once a stair. IV The birch crooks her arm, as if somewhat more inclined to welcome the swarm. V He has, you will find, two modes only, the chipmunk: fast-forward; rewind. VI The smell, like a skunk, of coffee about to perk. Thelonius Monk. VII They're the poker work of some sort of woodpecker, these holes in the bark. VIII My new fact checker claims that pilus means "pestle." My old fact checker. IX Those Rose and Thistle. Where the hummingbird drops in to wet his whistle. X Behind the wood bin a garter snake snaps itself, showing us some skin. XI Like most bits of delf, the turtle's seen its best on one's neighbor's shelf. XII Riding two abreast on their stripped-down, souped-up bikes, bears in leather vests. XIII The eye-shaded shrike. BIRD BODIES BURIED IN BOG'S a headline he'll spike. XIV Steady, like a log riding a sawmill's spillway, the steady coydog. XV The cornet he plays was Bolden's, then Beiderbecke's, this lonesome blue jay. XVI Some fresh auto wreck. Slumped over a horn. Sump pool. The frog's neck-braced neck. XVII Brillo pads? Steel wool? The regurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgitations, what, of a long-eared owl? XVIII The jet with the jot. The drive-in screen with the sky. The blood with the blot. XIX How all seems to vie, not just my sleeping laptop with the first firefly.