What would it take to properly condition a formal motivation? Honest touts on fare wagers. The post boasts the toast of the host. With a bhudda pat over lazy. Nice like the snoring old man in the rainstorm. Or the snowman ☃️ who felt abomnidable from the cold.
Went out like Parson Brown on the tide of the May King. A close quartered friend from the ware about. Beings truncated in steep longings for nomen of C kates. The brash grounds for leaping faithfully up in to the air has met with stops. On the passage, on the journey, on the organ grinder monkey dance. You sense at the pocketing of the coin. There is no more objective stance for the quaint imitator to display.
With the glam and the idle this becomes a several and thus many strewn pilings of rags in the wagon outback. The hearty har, har, of the ruffy is disporting a far flown fish. Canabalistic perdition of familiars. A bit of a stowaway, right there in. And a mongstway of the krill some ways up a bit yonder bit like its out and about hashing up its wee littlin ones. Its fry.
For the sake of long draling Sollys. A butcher with the cleaver. On the middle length of a tanner’s quate. With the aces drifting to make rounds within guises of a heavenly roe. Its a apportioned and yet wholly flea smitten boob hatchety bunch obbly jockers.
Making out parse wends of the lucid goosids. A rio of goners heaving to the tow. Lucred and fealt. As if thrift was a short watts table away. And the trip to share was locking stone function up. Tickaboo tuckered and fly. Still glam as a favor toward the organ grinder for getting his monkey back up on the round of the floor.
Yes and the floor it is a mighty bit holy today? How the drag? Huh, hey, what the boo. The blue drag? Lythe, remonstrating, pentient, quandering on remorse. Strewn like another blastem of pie. Ohhhh and ayyyyye. Sez it not to be laden a miss. Gives raison to exist. Trancendentally astute. And easy enough to see emblazoned across the face. That just what it is.
Now sithence can see me fly away oft into the night withe timber tamber of loggerheads and cornices that stand so hie. If there is to be anymore testwater on the panes. Anymore reverb floating in the great above. Like a slipstream of backpage pans kippering and in no quietus a fey. No there is sas and there is a doty dotty duty. The dues you know they wake you up and they walk you out. Upon the day, upon the morning, raising up your arms to give it all a stretch and rouse. To go by. And go by lightly.
If the cross is to out lay lets not crow about breaking in on a robber band. Some hopes instead to make out that exercise of the daily constitution out in the yard. Where a body can meet a body. In the round of quarter and shade. On the level like a link tracing out the lineages of song and modelo, even device.
So if its your move and your gray hair is a mellow camel coat just thinking, just dreaming. Well don’t get lost in all them thoughts. Not now with time on your side. And a perhaps a feeling to call Earth your home for this fairiers while. Before our Saturday night. In a game out on the steps. With your red carpet ride and my hot set of the boxed dice. Call it what you will. Sit for a peace. Slide something on by. Take a step to your timing. Live and breath.
Think too. About it. The wonder of it all and the weight of the world. Like a randy book of good orient. Like a few last queries of the blushing street light. As light rain begins to fall and a parting of the ways is due. And an evening’s accomplishment has been settled. Like a score on another good day.
