Was he, were they A? were the comic i.d hour glasse pericopes predicated by pestle & mortar of booze and guzzle? an ole gussie might know the booths of tears lead th e way, inward the closet dawn of their rare truths

If Mona knew a rhizome baby then down thee stair of translated ontologie and ontologue they swept.the gleaming star of . it. yes. inward the rose banter. outside smoke furled a coarse hour, a ladder of spirited steps dismissing each and every moment ~
conjured that for Love ~ . alien word to philosophy and love, the gloves of quiet interpretation contemplation. call the nightingale ~