Wednesday

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 For  once and all let's get it right. I said machines not structure and machines not metaphor. Lover not plumber and buss  boy not dishrag. She got the bues and I got the blues. That summer we moved to Lyons and got our fence straightened out. that way we had grapes going south for the whole of autumn.  Madame burrow and her debouching exits offer plenty along the lines of treasure and map making.                                               A simple anesthesia of tramp granaries and bitter buttocks going crackers. O say can you see the dirty wind of our awning! a horn blares louder...                shit that's no way to reorder your pulse. A body must be buried and harder and harder.
 ____________________Mona gets home filled with plenty of boots and try out jeans. She's a boxed in creature.