[CHAPTER 1. Loomings. Moby Dick.]
call me some never mind precisely little interest
off circulation growing about the mouth damp I
find myself involuntarily up the rear to prevent me
from deliberately stepping into the street time my
substitute for pistol and ball throws himself upon me
your belted battery washed by previous crowds do you
see posted silent reveries tied to counters of
warehouses miles of them—leagues lanes and alleys
the magnetic virtue of needles ships a pool stand
that man on his legs a hollow trunk a crucifix
within sleeps a sleepy smoke blue tranced knee-
deep among a cataract of silver robust robust
your first voyage in the fountain plunged a purse a
purse of salt toils broiled judicially buttered right
before the plumb hunks of weighed archangel
shoulder blades infliction wholesome breathes it
repeatedly I take my head doubtless the drawn
stage managers cunningly cajoling choice and itch
conceits in the air
The Man in the Stall Next to Mine Reads a Newspaper While He Waits
[CHAPTER 4. The Counterpane. Moby Dick.]
daylight tattooed a patchwork of weight and pressure
hugging sensations trying to crawl out of our
undressed time a sigh got between the sheets
shining at my feet slippering, condemning me—steeped
a hand placed in mine silent, piled, broken as if a
civilized compliment a transition made to order to
accelerate the operation
We Troll during a Typical Person’s Working Hours
[CHAPTER 17. The Ramadan. Moby Dick.]
humiliation did not choose my congregation of our
charitable conceits these knocked through the keyhole a
shaft of mounting suspicions locked, locked—
keeping countenance I ruminated under another
counterpane the suicides permitted me a bolt within
I caught myself against the self-collected pushing
probability upon punctual plum-puddingers vexed with
sleeping and screwed stiff the cave caves in very plainly
take it in only two in the afternoon in their mouths
compliments condescending compassion rose and
dressed—all the reason—sallied out to sauntering
picking our bones
The Man Reading the Newspaper Taps His Foot on the White Tiles beneath the Shared Stall Wall
[CHAPTER 44. The Chart. Moby Dick.]
a large wrinkled yellowish spread screwed-down
shadings slow pencil trace spaces that before were
blank he employed shifting gleams of lines the
solitude effaced threading a maze of thought thus to
driftings to be his prey the observed swallows this
hint feeding infallible undeviating precision wake is
said substantiated in crossing himself without
prospect you cannot conclude that time and place
were conjoined complexion white in any other waters
wind thronged snow-white snow-white mutter to
himself a weariness and faintness of nails the
throbbing leagued his thoughts and fancies into a form-
less somnabulistic being a blankness he creates
As for My Philippine Constitution
[CHAPTER 60. The Line. Moby Dick.]
The Manilla is stronger, and far more soft and elastic—
is much more handsome and becoming to behold—layers
of concentric spiralizations, without any hollow but the
“heart” or minute vertical tube at the axis of the
cheese—some will consume an entire morning in
this business—will bear up a considerable distributed
weight, but not very much of a concentrated one—
smoking as he does into the profundity of the handle of
every man’s oar so that it jogs his wrist between the
men as they sit leaded where a quill hangs over—a warp
of intricacies like shaken
jelly
Conduction
[CHAPTER 102. A Bower in the Arsacides. Moby Dick.]
to unbutton him still further the points of his garters the
eyes of his bones his subterranean parts mounted
lectures dishes witness upon the sleepers in his
bowels confess since the skin blessed barbs
knowledge of their trading his inlaid paddles
distributed freighted rendering long stranded stripped
enfoldings dry palms vibrated their lacings
unwearied weaver weaver ceaseless weaver weaving he
factories inaudible walls amid the hummed cunning over
every folded trellised life the grim glories an altar
ascending I laughed brushed aside the eddied opening
a green arrow slit shouted: measure this! a rose among
them great echoed in to test my hull seignories
articulated throughout his cavities keys whispering
unrivalled dimensions preserving statistics crowded for
composing untattooed odd inches
Residue
[CHAPTER 119. The Candles. Moby Dick.]
spiced effulgent in dazed darkness sky rags a shroud
cranes left it a sieve bad work will have its way you
spring for me but it’s hoky-poky the scud all a flyin’ I
am a coward spirits stop my throat look through my
eyes you see better seizing he swung in the sheets
to stand the question hammer a volley of lances a
spire to fluid slender into privileges arms tipped
tapering silently swashing his shifting teeth a
common cluster gleaming pale wrapped overhanging
attitudes running like a child the foundling projected
its levelled tongue a rope’s end petrified and the
held body is bound