By coming into a supernatural family wherein the word should should never arrive with respect to building a bridge and the word obliged I pumped and deflated ladylike huffy tires while I
uttered it with a sophist's harmonica kit-trophy, not lust, wuthering, custody, my lucky exhalation playing Monk's Suburban Eyes plus you don't cry enough
In a dynasty-shaped fieldway of what backlash exodus painting disappearance into its return/Some myth/ is a filthy brigade I'd like to claim an addiction to/ traces of joy so brave in the tension they break it into that silly hunger to be unknown famous Monk, forever. I'd grown up calling it trust, found out it's just inventory you keep by not keeping count, grown up calling it a county family succulent fairgrounds, rides and prizes, slow down an isle. And can blow listening through this miniature cage and come out singing about a ballgame in reporter cadence: mania, jolliness, dejected charisma, real paid. All you have do is go blind to the sight of yourself to find the idea was crowded with memorization which came to mean looking though you couldn't see anything you didn't remember being told to see. Or pretend you're the announcer at ballpark figure and say what's happening and how much it's gonna cost us
Because you should
