The Daily Sentence

Here below this bedside, and even now yearning for prophets, as the credit goes, drumming neologistical desobrietization within the skull cavity, soon to be socketless eyes, now selling, loving, creeping to a rest, the helpless pieces in the game He plays upon the checker-board of Nights and Days—hither, thither moves, checks, slays; one by one—the moving finger writes, moves on, tears — Oh Henry!, Oh Ruby Ott!