Wednesday

haunch

Jill had a finding her stone was a rock . Pushed to its calender.



Orpheus Saw
If there was a betrayal it was Not Orpheus nor the space of segmentation, but the loose line of prose, and its rigid molarities, their hunkered down deadzones. What said orthos must form and conform their hopping hands to the riddles of accentual syllabic not Celtic non AngloSaxon speeches and butters of the oat of desire. Not so, swore Orpheus the girlfriend of Mona, and her sheer down days.



Or that's finger dramatic to her lieu and luck .