What word? Already amber leaves skit across the pavement when I walk before dawn. A cloud simply does what it does and the brain is no different. Be careful when you say the word love.
Fleas leaping and dancing where the older dog's tail meets the body. Who was it spread his cloak so they too could enjoy the warm sunlight? Narrative is dictatorial or do we simply long for guidance, direction? As in, he wrote he wrote.
What can one do with twenty bones? Who was Jesus anyway? How little we know about love and joy. How futile - yet how alluring, if I can use that word, that way - is language!
Not amber so much as rust-colored. I cannot write without certain male writers watching me, or so I think. What I meant was that writing is linear is the sense that one word follows another. Not who or what is God but rather who or what is the God your actions signify?
What a headache! I erased a bad word a ways back. I hefted the sword of judgment and could not put it down. Hence the narrative, this one.
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