Dear Ears, Mouth, Eyes,
and Hindquarters

She crossed the main street which is enlarged by sexual stimulation. Then that’s settled and I want to use the word sexy. I go for the rather goddamned bitch with my beloved arms and hands.

I have a job and I have that large now ripe sea beside us with its operation of forces.

Now she is climbing, now running, I say, trotting, typically swelling so that she can be seen. It is called profane. It is not such a time-consuming process. Imagine spending part of every day after her. She may be completely different with Mr. Reinisch who conducts her through the isolation and the cool. What is there that is good about her? Something important—this is in the land of your bitch. I had hoped to get those boners.

I want Mr. Reinisch to tell this who has the true interest to tell this.

I don’t get money out of it. That is my sky and my favorable opinion of a leaf over there. That is my mother, not your mother. You would like to stop this. I would, too, but not just temporarily. You have your own mother and terraced land with vine bow­ers. A street runs along by many hotels, but don’t bother to remember that.

It is all so multicolored. I like the stick part and what’s underneath it. I just don’t like the decoration on top.

I miss you!—and I want to see you! That is not such a good feeling to have at the end of the valley, at the last spur of the ridge.