The endangered presentation by a distraction of entering and not-asking for a surface encounter to escort its surface corners along a thumb-tack veil about windows and ice-cream comes at a moment—which between each synapse remains a family of buried squirrels holding down the fort with their incubating desires and anticipating relief—nothing more than a door knock and an accusation based upon the premise of railroad tracks imbibing ruling hardship class of bruised brows and sour cream apple pies for a place to lie down and suntan under the oncoming season—a bend in the turn of a take shapes a sandwich spliced between languages and inhalations provided by restaurant menus of the finest dining and chandeliers endorphin swell—there comes a chance at which small smoke signals rise to greet a passenger along corridors of a silent, yet swollen staircase of chairs to hear if the landing or frontier is just another phone call or a plea to get married; in which case if the latter is a briefcase there are too many tomatoes to talk about, but to pry out numbers and examine each draft of air, now the photography is talking. A twinge on a screen ring clicks and, though air is far from here to tell, circulating across a pulse-valley of active servitude, yearning, and grit, suggest a propelling helicopter to adapt antidotes among dandelion constitutions for an ear-pod-of-cabbage. Picking and weeding through trials can be hazardous milking snow from an udder of frozen water. Warmth replacing the need for exclamation points and retirement communities surround the peripheral set of oranges jogging across milkshake plains in search of losing weight and gaining appliance for a magazine. Cartridge or not the printer telepathically sends messages to the wall paint hanging on the other side of the gallows glowing in a half-smile of a white cat. It helps organic yogurt relax and spell names to the roaring engines ushering cascades of pollen through doormat contrition locating coliseum appetites along the rooftop mouths of magnetic hornets and the wooden fence of a plastic house Rhina lives in.


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