Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Sean Terrels and Skip Mc'tate got stunned by a mirror that showed up too late - to the dinner! to the crumpets! to the owner of the moon, sim sa la bim the hundred winters land in the hands of june.

And all of us retort, we whisk away the wash, we waltz along the wishing wills of ghosts at willow marsh.

200 wrapped up wrens, to handle archived friends, to walk inside the raven tree and see where starlight bends.

So sew your host another kitten my fastest filing flattened smitten and pour the faucet upon the floor - like lifting smoke between the worlds the ferns of friday at last unfurls.

And jonny jumped up the floor now the boar's red Eye has scratched your door.