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Always, it seems it would be easy. 

riverrun, you might begin, past Eve and Adam’s,

and then the words would just come and come and come.

When I was five, I learned that flies were bad.  Proudly

struck the fly on the pane. You broke it on purpose

she said and hit me with a stick.

Alternately, you could just use short declarative sentences.

The bull on its knees, bleeding into the dust of the summer street,

stolidly filling the page.

You could reach deep, find the place where the fly

still bumbles against the pane; tell how it buzzed and butted there,

already close to death.

a way.  a lone.  a last.

[the phrases in italics are from Joyce's Finnegan's Wake]