The
avenue diminishes to buy us some time. It's a way out of division, a method of
sums that strikes at the very heart of the cheer squad. Their number is nine
and it sucks the thumbs off of the folio. Their love is a never-ending
complaint, keeping matters tight and in square formation underneath the
spectacle of equation. Question arrive in some tattered suits with dusty
lapels, they have no patience with patterned ties or red brick etiquette.
Mothers do wonder at this state of the union, mothers don't take flights from
curling gateposts. It's all a matter of principality, a sniper could do it
better and without all the flair that comes with boa constrictor suicides. It's
a general assembly for us. The marble in the beloved country is waning with
click top pens so the domes might come thundering down in rubber gloves.
Nancy
left Neil and took the nasal medication. It keeps the fans alongside the japes
and lowers bullet time statistics so it can't all be wrong. Otherwise who would
devise the recreation of seven am? The teeth bleed with titters and dwindle
among the low down respected. For the sake of goodness these people ride and
often without suitable car seats. It's a result that we've all come to expect,
it's a solution that tyrannises the plaster and leaves us marked for intuition.
Home is for the hunted and cannot ventilate the soul properly, not while
there's still something sticky inside. Well, relatively so. It's for the sundry
of Stonehenge, the fringe of the faltering curtain. Watch the twitches
twitching past. Watch the guardians roping the hangman and throwing down his
arms for him. Watch the shoelaces pick at his pinkies. It's a theory.
Nobody
asks the drafted to yield to genuine contemplation. Nobody rescinds the
politics of the artichoke-minded children and spells their silvery disks for
them. Now it is the speakers that orate and the orators that speak. Tongues wag
but fall off if chopped off. Hit below the watermark and expect the great
underlining of our season. It's no longer the men who are at fault but their
wrinkles and pyjama bottoms. It's the elastic that binds their waist to the
centre mass of the universe and doesn't pay for pizza dinners. Quality is never
confirmed and no roles are laid out for the willing. Shadowy Nordic pokes the
brushstrokes out of order and then proclaims the resounding art nutritious.
It's just like your cousins and nieces.
Water
briskly supersedes the start of our indentation, the final indentation that the
galaxy expects in its hour of finger snapping. The highlighter pens struck a
deal with the Bohemian crayons in order to make the calendar their own and hold
off any further restrictions. It's valiant but our political system believes it
is diminishing the trust between air freshener borders. The lessons are cruel
taskmasters and not to be meddled with when lacking paper umbrellas. The
cobblestones soar out beyond the paving slabs. The cobblestones.
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