Eight days prior to the only only left lying in the farce. Winter closed the draft card cause the cord would not sustain our waiting for much longer. Still, I linger, imagining the discomfit of all prior repasts.
At last, at last, at least we're still able to type into this box, trying not to think about the obviousness of the odor malingering, the attempt to offer an alternative to us.
When talking about the dissolution becomes as intoxicating as the act which neither party can bear to dislodge where every choice yields pain and the final joy is in not choosing and accepting one's position as pinball in the machine. When language runs away with the dish and the spoon and the jam and all your memories fade to a read only memory extinction as it were.
Maybe there was a recollection of the past in this tenth. Maybe the teeth bar none without proper admittance of disavowal. Perhaps this color will not make my teeth fall out so soon. At the end of the day, the real controversy lies in the real, not the fountain.