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“Blurtso takes a trip” (XVI)

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What is it in Venice that makes us feel we have been transported in time? Is it the ancient buildings and bridges, the palaces with their frescoes and the moss-lined canals? Is it the smooth-worn stones or the fountains of the piazze? Is it the stillness of the water and the echoing barcarole? No, it is rather the simple sound of voices and footsteps, heard, as if for the first time, in a city without engines, in a civilized world before the automobile.

“Blurtso takes a trip” (V)

Hello friend, said Blurtso. I think your country is lovely.
Do you know where I can get a pumpkin pie?

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¿Qué? ¿Qué me estás diciendo? No entiendo ingles.
¿Y eso? ¿Qué diablos es un pumpkin pie?

“Roman Clair” (VII)

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“Because he had to do what he had to do, he couldn’t see what he wanted to see, and he couldn’t see what he wanted to see because he had to see what he had to see. But she could see what she wanted to see, when she wasn’t doing what she had to do, and he was seeing what he wanted to see.”

“Roman éClair” (V)

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“Her hand was writing before he was writing, then her hand was writing when he was writing and he was writing what she was writing. And his hand was hers. But hers was not his. Then his hand was writing, and her hand was writing, then hers was not, and his was not.”

“Graham Cracker Crumbs” (III)

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“Lizzy”

A single obsession of light,
a single smile
in the soil of the soul,
a flash in the shadow,
a burning planet,
a single note from the spheres.

A single light illuminating
the water’s crash
at the cliffs of the heart,
a leaping light of statues
erected and razed in the foam,
an undulating light reflecting
the swell and hollow and sway.

A simple light persisting,
in absence,
an extinguished star that continues.

“Graham Cracker Crumbs” (I)

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Hmm…. moon, June, spoon…
hoof, goof, roof… ear, dear, clear…
tail, whale, snail… eye, pie, sky…
pumpkin, rumpkin, sumpkin…