His mother goes. The mother comes & goes. br Chen Lung's too came, came and crampt & then br that dragoner's mother was gone. br It seem we don't have no good bed to lie on, br forever. While he drawing his first breath, br while skinning his knees, br br while he was so beastly with love for Charlotte Coquet br he skated up & down in front of her house br wishing he could, sir, die, br while being bullied & he dreamt he could fly— br during irregular verbs—them world-sought bodies br safe in the Arctic lay: br br Strindberg rocked in his niche, the great Andrée br by muscled Fraenkel under what's of the tent, br torn like then limbs, by bears br over fierce decades, harmless. Up in pairs br go we not, but we have a good bed. br I have said what I had to say.