Would a little more of moon and sky make one say, 'god is good and is often worse, sometimes told like a dirty curse' and sung into dawn, and one more sickening day: 'remembered and dismembered, dismembered and remembered'? Would that e'er be pleasing to the sole chubby bee, bloody snail torn like fresh meat, or gypsy moth with two dusty feet-- the tortured and then boiled body of a big fat bee? I fell asleep and before long a king sent three soft curly saints to bring a little more of moon and more of sky in Otto's way, whose bloody feet and gypsy soul made it easy to lie in one more hole
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