Tuesday

cameo

round enough



Round this everything she hearkended for. Blessing soup and cabbage, to her Jacobins were capons, and the cutting machine markingthe terror! the error of its city street bleeding. Not the mens bodies and the women and the bread the stones sailing clear across the wall of the cobblestone. Verisimilitude was not her best shot. Okay lean out the lintel with your boobs blessed. She’s shaking the linen dry. Past most she has the air of wanting erudition. Becoming this way she’s the doubled begun lover. Covered in the skill of love’s lass.


__________________ She climbed over that strata with a fascination beyond bearing, hoping for all expecting the least. Then the world , or maybe the world keeps clear.
What does her noun expect her verb predicate.?