imagine the past tense of flutter or April when wind swirls and the soft pattern of pink clouds changes.
cases of Kansas return as if history were convex with the stripped down confirmation of abeyance wallowing in acrimony.
the great apes that still our beams grow fearful of wicker chairs held in hoosegows by owners in cahoots.
the sky slightly gashed in gushes of blue blurring the fabulous envy of horizon becomes one thought after another, like a sentence.
Terrible commas inform the bat equerry in eloquent quagmire of incipient doodling.
bell tones of surfing clouds produce imaginative opulence in the blanket boon of soft pattern reflected upon the surface words.
prepositional patois exacts distillation as a final practice of peek.
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