We look at baby pictures while the kids sleep. Rain storms always seem to contain pronouncements. The sunflowers this year are spindly and dull. Yet another linguist who can't shut up.
I am driving to a funeral later. Bulbs in the earth multiply. The hill beneath our feet steepens. Please don't open with once upon a time.
Gretel is always is misunderstood, that's why. A brief history of the arrow. The sentence works best when textual expectations are kept to a minimum. Yet another novel stuttering.
Horses made her laugh. The delete key is stuck which is a spiritual not a mechanical problem. We can only watch the mind and its dance so much so long. Your tutu is my grim reaper.
Wry slim leaper? A series of photographs eight years old that make one want to cry or else fall weeping. Yet we continue, or we seem to. And I am always home, always looking away.
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