Deprived of his enemy, shrugged to a standstill

horrible Henry, foaming. Fan their way

toward him who will

in the high wood: the officers, their rest,

with p. a. echoing: his girl comes, say,

conned in to test

if he’s still human, see,

therefore she get on the Sheriff’s mike & howl

‘Come down, come down’.

Therefore he un-budge, furious. He’d flee

but only Heaven hangs over him foul.

At the crossways, downtown,

he dreams the folks are buying parsnips & suds

and paying rent to foes. He slipt & fell.

It’s golden here in the snow.

A mild crack: a far rifle. Bogart’s duds

truck back to Wardrobe. Fancy the brain from hell

held out so long. Let go.