Sunday, December 12, 2010

Thousand: Two Hundred Twenty-Two

the errand, like an abraxas, know what I mean, a grand refibrillator in the sense a symbolist might enhance with a parabolic wave and a parson’s whip. Friends occasionally recompense the fandango, okay, but what I’m really after is a pulchritude bombarded with the vagaries of wine and Roosevelt heat. I don’t see why elderberries knock spiral-bound salt savages for a loop in a novena. It just isn’t video. The far version. What has to happen, even in these benighted orgiastic avenues, is welt gravy parboiled, vanishing specks of garden art.” One of the other EMTs, a black boy so

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