Sunday

cement

Marooned by backseats, she's chesty to the swashbuckled water, a league or two more,and she's homebound for more ferries.

The rain wills its peace. She's narrow to a bridge. And peace to bound.

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Headress and her bonkers. One and a time she purcharged a book. Purchased a book. She was woman to her kind. Gilles became Jill. A gilly sort of thing, sexy as the onest of them awls. She's banned to her pate, and mate to her fate. what's this sword of copped smooth self. Is that Freud you're wearing? Come along she turn the semicolonnade upside down, she's Parthenon to her tomfoolery, hobgoblin to her matey.It's the high seas! and no telling where they'll end. On the rivers of Antartica! or Boliva, the faraway countries of the south and . And harmonica mouth


Fracas my dear it's yer favoured ... letter of the bell episteme to her jar of well used truth. Not a necklace but a spare bedroom. Something,okay, and the meaning of life? Well, go and ask your friend Aristotle.Claire is coming this afternoon, do you want to meet her?She's very keen on something you said last week. Oh yea? and then the pillar, and the gruesome island, the gull and the . And that it, no that,no it rose, the wind, the wind was rising, it was rising, and rising like any kind of horizon it was,
you might say
an epistemology of analogy and unsureness, upspeak to upass .