Alberto, lookin' tough:
Pauline read Jay Frankston's Poet! Words tied in knots! Loud, raw, naked! Shouting me! Tim blew in from New York, then slumped like the Mets. Everything exists for a reason. And for no reason. Rufo had sticky fists and silver eyes, green-veined with moisture. Spoke of Vienna - of course, it was a lie, though beautiful. Pui lives near the harbour in NYC, under the expressway. Where neighbours smile dim as a waning street lamp and we can retract nothing. She said she liked SpokenWord, and set fire to her hat to prove it.