Monday, June 8, 2015

Hommage a Beau

The land of proctored pastures, a verb as the only registration of humanity, stuck water in the spring-summer air: I want to build my house next door to you.

Faces concern faces, the plains of only and event. For thirty seconds, each a lifetime, fancy tapping in the doorway freshet.

Nothing is a creek, just an implication hayride. The first field of hay borne to gravid heights. Big words win in contests over touch.