I do sucker for these paws, admittedly; galling or fallstepping each year in remarkery at how spring never ceases to astound. Last night was a warm chorus of two am peepers, treescaling whirrs of arboreal variety, and distant croakers... ballasting act supported by distant lightning which later reigned hail upsets and glorious backviews of three am cotton bolls and deadly illumes. And today... I sidetweak and wanderbluss; up the backwoods mountaining act to catch an osprey and smell arms, wet feet, hot earth-- not thawed-- but defuse, piquante, living. And then? And THEM. A director's cut. Foes to furthering my dada meme (as of late, less a committee of invisibles). Laylines were sought, found, and deedee'd perpendicular rectargle bopeswhip choldgren doej monure caspet xomb and reclection, bambit.
(yi's yusef yor youth yupporde)
No comments:
Post a Comment