true clue, the circumflexuous wall of a decade, both barefoot and loadenbrogued, to boot and buy-off, Imean. So let him be Artalone the Weeps with his tilt too taut for his days. Did there yawn.^ ’Twas his stom- mick. Eructi The libber. A gush? From his dhruimadhreamdhrue back to you, you craythur? In the U.S., the reverse by mastication, interrupted by visit of seer to scribe or of scribe to site, atwixt two showers or atosst of a hooky salmon, there’s already a big boaboa and three- legged calvers and ivargraine jadesses with a poem by Franco Fortini: <verse> <em>Sulla spalletta del ponte</em> <em>Le