Heart takes his lines to a critic who tells him that the poet is recounting a time as a toddler when he saw his father kissing the baby-sitter at the family s cottage on a lake. Obviously, the poem explains the poet s fear of water. Heart is ecstatic. He rushes home to continue writing. Oh, Cloud, raccoon cadaver of colored crayon, angel spittle recast as foggy euphoria.
Heart is swept up by the passion of composition.
Freed from the responsibility of content, no nuance of nonsense can be denied him. Soon his poems appear everywhere, while the critic writes essays elucidating Heart s meaning.