Hendrik, on Walden’s lake,
Let’s admit it– sensually eschewed moonshine– preferring lake pickeral, or did he mean Pike, pike-a-snake-shark, Emily Dickenson, residual, of free front, or full frontal, passage away,
In the break, not the brake, of day,
To fish, as a gentleman, reclining in ease, to go with the breeze, to catch a wide wopper, as in that lake tiny eye, a compleat angler, beyond compare– or repair– might shamble a shack, might ramble a snack– Sir Isaac Walton fishing Waldon Lake, might rip torn a lace, without disgrace?
We’re not in Massachuesetts any more, totalitarianism.
Spam of Human Affection 
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