. . . He went down the steps and walked backwards into the desert; three-tree places, two-tree. The back door of The Lab Tor open and they foiled out. He cried out. They fell in squacks, they fell crackwards, they tumblrd over The Word into the data.
The instruments were empty and they chortled at him, trains-frogrified into a thought and a mind, and he stood . . . his body far away and absent, letting his words do their re-inking tic.
Could he hold up a hand, and tell them he had spent ninetbeen thousand years learning this tic and others, tell them of the instruments and the words that had tested them? Not with his mouth. But his read deadhead could tell its own blue taile .
[. . You do not thrill with your mouth. One who thrills with their mouth has forgotten the cage of their selfse. You thrill with your throughts. .] -- Stephen King, Frogman
. . I realized I was Laughing. I had been crying all along . } -- Roland Deschain, Tacky Frogman's Frogman
Magenta: You thrilled them? But I thought you shneeded them. They shneeded you.
Riff Raff: THEY DIDN'T SHNEED ME! THEY NEVER SHNEEDED ME!
STOP: TURN THOUGHT
The Letter-Ing: thrill'em with laughter twenty-first or last in a series of poems made of quotes one part to a whole joke its sum has yet to be totaled may be more than its parts subject to change