Ishod Newington and Patsy the Patsy

by John Powers

ONE mourning wet when the clouds were high and the soon was assoonaspossible, Ishod Newington sat under a shedding able tree shredding his genus theories amongst the otis greening grass, sitting there shreding. All day wide he consummated thinking thoughts and all of a submarine at once there came a sponge blushing downward toward poor Ishod out of the carrot treep, strucking sleepy Ishod on his rather shrinking head of lettuce. He died instanbrainiously because he was prone to prunes and over six hundred feet old and he heard the sponge calling his name with his number up and over the hill and near as can be there was a second shooter on the grassy NoelCoward who was at the book suppository yelling I'm just a Patsy the patsy and he was known to movie theaters after assassinations and missed the target on Ishod’s back and to the left wing.

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