from The Unfollowing: 7

To begin with, I am faced with mountains to circumambulate, since I can't cut through them I enter the folds of a human adventure On every door there hangs a figurehead and this one comes to face me as the door swings shut I will proceed with good will—the best of wills—anxiously Bird of daughters, bird flying from the forks, the blurbs, the serials, the time I saw a golden tadpole, eating apple jam; I saw a sudden whirlpool, sucking down a ham The boughs groan with fruit, an apple falls—false alarm It’s a non-sequitur—that Sense data sinks The muscles give out mid-word and a thief stutters while accusing me (his uncle) of theft Lune comes along mounted on a beast called That who is neither more nor less than a horse as obedient to Lune as the tides are to the moon Shot of men hurrying toward each other at an intersection with open umbrellas none willing to give way to the others, shot of placid camels kneeling near a chained dog, shot of sugar maples temporarily obscured by falling snow Tomorrow morning, unless things vastly improve, I’ll go in person to the front of the caravan and take it over the mountain I thought I saw an earthworm, stirring in the dirt, then I saw it was a sadist, wielding a quirt