"Down a road past mailboxes inconsolable as newly broken arms;
where a sea of Queen Ann’s lace has devoured the Starlit Farms
and a grave yard of dead mariners and their wives duck
beneath confident stalks of tiger lilies; where tall grass shadows
thatch the pavement’s wavy tangle; where wildflowers atrophy –
I asked myself, how many wrong ways can one person go?"
"Edgar’s father then turned to serious secret matters. Gargle noises accompanied complex rumbling within the deep mine of his cavernous chest. Blood-heavy sounds emerged from his heart and lungs, surrounded his tree trunk throat, flew out around his vast tongue, through his great lips, and became light and airborne like special mosquitoes or flies which usually vanished instantly, but, at this very happy time, when Edgar’s own perceptivity briefly achieved what would one day become its abiding brilliance, Edgar continued to see these words for a short while, like the opalescent residue of a burst soap bubble."