The only way scholars have been able to make sense of the following has been to interview those who knew Bean Newton during his lifetime. Former lover, mentor, and personal trainer of Newton, Edye Brewstier, claims that he was, during their acquaintance, working on a children's book (!--as the kids these days say). The following fragment dates from that time.
Brewstier was working as a third-shift produce manager at a Purewater, Kansas Croaker market in this period (1992-3), while Newton was a struggling floor maintenance tech and utterly unsuccessful writer. The following, if indeed part of a children's book (!), marks yet another failure on Newton's part. Brewstier suggests that the children's book (!) idea may have been Newton's attempt to appeal to her, as she was raising her sister's two small children then while trying to finance a line of cantilevered undergarments for large-chested womyn, and a children's book (!) was viewed in those days as having greater commercial potential than experimental poetry. -- E.W. Wilder
Carl, the Unprecedented
There never had been, nor would there ever be
another Carl, and yet all who saw him swore
they'd seen him once before, and they weren't lying
exactly as
sad and nominal is certain. Still,
from his nose and flannel of cauliflower
to his toes the piecemeal, each of need,
Carl gleaned with the bespoke
earnestness of the inevitable, the un-\
enviable desecration of all the world's forests.
To know Carl was to know
as much as any fuzzy-headed
interpreter of cheese, to access
all niches and sleep through every movie's
most pivotal scenes. Sniff open
the regulations, and you'll find Carl,
sockworthy and austere, calculating your disappointment
edge-wise
and noodled-under, slumberful and daring-do,
plantsed-up to please and widesmile
gargantuan, the gradual
infestation of time.