blogger, get your mouth

Set pen to conjugate the way I imagine this afternoon. Found myself in the way of the difference between words and years. One minute of someone spitting into music theory. I'm sorry for having lost the second of the two. Can't really see me, just a bunch of gravity in San Francisco: a thousand lines, Kabul rustled. National fear arms Simon. Reagan's dead. I determined the dogs to be open to the dogs. Eat the sea. And so much harm to the planet. Here's a single unit: the belly or the string? Bubbles up. He turns to the beach, having lost his face. Nothing warranted the page. To create is what we call her lifelong dream. Guess what we call thinking. The telephone rings, waking the past. It must be someone I sketched in an afterlife. The blow dogs lost, wild sun on their foreheads. Posted by humming it.