Metaphors. Croquet mallets.
Starlit hills along which monsters stride, their dark arms swinging, their seven-fingered hands full of fire and steel.
No more sex in pick-ups. Trade-ins. References to rain as liquid sunshine impossible to disallow.
The freedom to name things the only freedom there is. Distracted fathers ambling up Main Street, gazing skyward while talking to their kids. Let nothing pass unnoticed is what level of allowed?
Pumpkins ripening in tangled skeins of rotting vine. Something passes into the light, something remains that insists on saying "something passes into the light."
Stone Buddhas resting in hollowed-out tree trunks, Jesus passing on the secret to eternal life. Can you ever really say what anybody else sees with their own eyes?
Horse shoe tournaments. Free ice cream.
Antiquated chairs in which our asses settle. Fields of cattle is not the next sentence but this one is. Shall we be grateful, shall we sell nothing, shall we love one another wrapped in blankets outside, starlit and dew-filled?
Heart is plural is all you need to know and all you can know.
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