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Lumps of Plum Pudding and Pieces of Pie

As egyptian president, I have been a book. I have been a library. A liquid assertion compels the age-old Nile in study, with whiffs of news called electricity. The people stand on chairs. Each chair commits a prognosis in which daisies arise in the mind’s eye, when the mind’s eye reaches Colorado. No egypt exists without president. The present is not enough. The egyptian present moves on curtailed vibrations. Like a dog in years, or a basket asking for help, the days muddle for completion. The complete egyptian president can talk. So can the many others. So can the guarding pattern of other nations. I have been egyptian president, on long walks thru hall after hall. I have spoken up for the presence of statements, of places to speak, of canvas upon which to paint, of stones to do the talking. The clock ticks conservatively. I ask for haymakers now, the will to live like molasses. Proper nouns list towards verbs. Smack can be both.

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