This book will be different from any other book. Already it is. It gains legitimacy by nines.

For one thing, it is transparent.

The hunchback straightens up, looks to the right, peers into the horizon.

Scratchy-straight: fetus found near school

spewing bile.

Mom find her 3 kids

decapitated.

Goof-proof tigers, peacable kingdoms — masks

zapped into straightness.

Broo — airwalk — swipe.

Guilty in slay, blazing through supply of slugs.

Happy banjo tunes — nab chatty.

Ponder once, better think twice about

their gentle smiles, the loving intention.

Kate Hudson’s nice set.

I’m in Manhattan.

The problem of too much beauty, specks of grime, smudges, dried-up

liquids — a floor made to camouflage everyone’s sensitive nape:

“luzca bien.”