On Going (A Correspondence)

Figgy:

Midmonth Jane, your winteriest maharishis in cadaveric redux--from the sick room float loaner honeybuns (stenographically), or if you prefer, (thermocurrently) quinces.

Ring:

Coincidence. When two ducks' tear ducts collide, while in a "Safety in Somberness" symposium line.

Figgy:

Sweetly Schultz, soot-sneaking rings round the chambermaids' doorknobs (or, if you prefer, base-stealing bobbysoxers by the back-biting blearies), precipitates pastures for our bloomiest dew-eyed downies.

Carmody:

halfoctober gert autumbnication thoughsleep drifting despite death get wellsoon and make friends with your own hominybees friends by paying close attention to their language. i have to go knock on a door and ask if i can pick their quicnes before they all fall off in the frost.

Figgy:

Oh, pilgrim pomes, and how the hemianopsic hominybees doth pollinate the blind blossoms of visionary fields, in the deafening dawn of sundogged days!