Think of the idiots in a.m. radio Franny. Imagine their absent of heart and mind. No mind to the clinging brays and the donkeys of Jerusalem and the praying mantis a mantra of walls, pieces of potion to a witch-doctor the past is ever churning its tough medicines cashed by its horrible portions

Mona's headed every ship of state with this Yankee doodle dandy and the this hip of plate that tectonic fuel and wheat bearing south on its Moby Dick whale. Not the putter putter feet or the wasted ambage of men's polemics their javelin and mad wars.

If she yanks it's to cut the rift growing between and the others. Their sparring's got no boogie woogie up her ass. Round ass of the desire drouth