Friday, June 13, 2025

'Mr. McGaha,"

   "You were like Sweetpitati?" 

  This as the starry space night air crumpled the transpirter's nose into jungle-covered library books.  Rubbing my neck because I'm getting a wee bit tidy.

  The bright whites, socks and cuffs, had been deposited into our best laundry baskwets.  A strip of theatre curtainage stapled to our new band leaders side pants.  The neked were buttoned into their showah cuttin' dressbarn ware.

  A shot out transformer had sparked a galax of fuel path on the ground and while it wasn't exactly telling the whole story de todo, the surviving wounds

                   inkling

Tings of dis and dats.  A downed like a Space Needle to a chalked aerial.  Spires and art decos never shall be "quite the saME".  Watch the wires inside my yammie colored dog.  Why?!? Goes.


     The lightbrightblack papers spiralplitchart a llama's foot and debris.       Gal  AX     ing 

Sucking oxygen, heliym tank giggles, a diveboard into a dunk tank.

              .  



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