Collage © 1967 by Norman O. MustillNorman Ogue Mustil, my old friend, bailed out in 2013, when, as he put it, he’d had “a good run” and was past “my sell-by date.” His collages stopped you dead with their vicious satire, like the writings of William S. Burroughs. And for technical precision Max Ernst didn’t do better. But Mustill is little known, his work unseen, his praise unsung. This reading of deformed sonnets is dedicated to him.