tales from the funeral

Ellie. She was dead sordid.

Angie. She wasn't sordid.

Ellie. Yeah she was. That magician sordid her dead.

Angie. That wasn't a magician, it was Garfunkel.

Ellie. He was dead sordid.

London to York: a play

Scene: A roguishly handsome man in his early thirties holds the head of his panting horse as she lays dying.

Dick. You and me Bess, we we were as thick as thieves.

He holds her until she dies, which lasts a significant amount of time, and then carries on his way by foot.

Bawdy

broads board boats on
east coast shore for Irish shore
to eventually arrive in Innismore
the land from where they got there hair
from their ma's ma and her ma and more

fish fish other fish deep beneath
fresher than fresh fish
unseen atop the sea

they are bound to pay the piper
for their papa