A whole week of threes have gone by since last I’ve written anything at all. but all that’s passed us by now, all that’s…
and there I was feeling almost strangely coherent, almost dare I say, cogent or corpuscular…
but there it goes again, every time that I feel like screaming out a word that’s wholesome…
everything goes by so fast and slips between my ears…
when I find things which are soft and sleek, I like to pin them quick behind the door…
jurle, how dida crawl so fast? how did I weep for sneaking? how did I…
there’s not any sort of gigglebyte that won’t be sneaking down the block, to the corner store, for a bit of a stip…
reading strange books with strange themes…
coughing up lukewarm water till my nose bleeds rhyme and riddle…
inspect your flowers for cornucopiae and surly hidalgos…
can’t be speaking to just anywhere about just anywho…
should we rest our head upon the floral bed and cry (just a tittle) for all those things we scream for…