HOLLOW IN THE TEXT

With Huck the composer at dinner the other night, marveling over the ever-echoey dining room's sudden subsiding into silence, spontaneous: and how the composition of talk and nontalk would be of interest or non, even beyond the sixties:

and of late from my tenebrous Galilean tavern much thinking about the writer's unwitting vow of silence so verbose:

and of the entry into Carthusian asylum, breach in which to speak one's muteness.