Where the Sweet Spot Was

Light in the bedroom pale blue like milk before a storm or dawn. A crow, crows, a black jugular crown. When looking at snow how one thinks about the sea.

Which ones ever did not care after to remain in touch? Try this, try that but remain open. I did, I missed Gertrude Stein.

The envelope bled a few words as the dream itself grew a roseate blur. "Some of your sentences aren't." Sublimity he wrote was a but not the goal of found poetry.

A dead dog with its tail in the gutter. Vitamin debacle and a shovel blights movement. Keep your special deal, your flashing blue light special.

The game while high was name the three guys on the cover of Planet Waves. Some writers lose a windy stallion describing certain hills. The bibliography grew and grew until even backwards was it impressive.

Remember, a mirror must have a source of light in order to work. Pilgrims are simply individuals on their way to visit a location deemed holy by them and are found almost anywhere. He said to laughter how you were the straw that mixes the drink.

It was a lunatic mistake one has to blame on management. But you always knew where the sweet spot was.