Thursday, the 20th of July, came to me and said, I will give you this one elastic day. Snap it shut or stretch it like bread dough. So I put my hands in kneading and pulling. It was a gauze-bag day. The blue bell flower opened at the tip of its stalk. I am a body not equipped to take every flag down hill, but looking at all the exits and entrances, I chose white wine in a plain gla** goblet, and wearing a flannel nightgown, I went barefoot into uncut gra**. The temperature rose. The yeast began to work. Every spider took to the air. The cells of my skin puffed and tugged and with a great shout let go their tethers until looking up I saw myself like a cloud, like ectoplasm, like an angel among the branches of trees. Then peeling layer after layer I went to it letting go, until only the elemental worm remained letting itself down on a string of spittle.