In the name of accuracy
(there were ready arrows in the backseat)
..When Flavors was smiling, we were happy
But they said it wasn't fast enough, so I made it fast. There's not enough words for them to work out what the language was so I moved it as, my mother's habit at the electric church was to plead the blood, to rub the Cadillac with wax and lacking any fear, I might do that too. Silence. But not in the service of hurrying or wish fulfillment or slurring a rant into an errant I'll be damned if the isle ever flinches when I walk down it in mint green and a crown made of artichoke/hearts, grow up, dress up, laugh this many times in a row at that many chosen few many chosen you who none have
