Sunday

she's pluralistic


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She's pluralistic when she's got time. Got time you say? She say  it . Rubbing elbows with the refrigerator ~

    but a shrinking page and stinking age wars by her feet tumbled agains the block lift her higher and higher.  Ooopppss there goes a sideways leap~. She's bounced again to eternity and its high transcendence .  O eternal ghost of the inlove to time's toe to toe saunter.

She's become this very thing  not in itself but by itself a supple smile a solitary smile on her face   ~   .