The 70s skidded with more guff. You used the word brusque. That was your period of twine. You left these monuments and said something strange. Foraging for imperturbable, you stuck Obama on your forehead. Bet that hurt! Cigarette smoke folded over the pages in your smart book. So okay, poetry fiend, read thru the pages, even when verbs are spurious. The 70s were soldered with details, prime metal. Nothing consumed the facts more exactly than the details. We were listening to the music, except that we could not dig it. We dug holes in vapour, felt proud. There is a left side to ontology, and you are bold enough to make a list. Include your 70s in this list. Centuries are constrained. You said daddy, but you meant Evolution.
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