Tuesday, February 19, 2008

List XIX

Lions loggy with Circe's tisane.

That cat talks with a Greek inflection. And with the tone of bird talk the sun goes into shadow.

Tiber, dark with the cloak, wet cat gleaming in patches.

From Val Cabrere were two miles of roofs to San Bertrand so that a cat not need set foot in the road where now is an inn.

And a cat sat there licking itself and then stepped over the Principe.

In fact, that is the cat in the woodshed.

Desolate is the roof where the cat sat, desolate is the iron rail that he walked and the corner post whence he greeted the sunrise.

When the cat walked the top bar of the railing.

Her cell is drawn by ten leopards -- O lynx, guard my vineyard as the grape swells under vine leaf!

Unexpected excellent sausage, the smell of mint, Ladro the night cat.


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