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Before last year's false start, the face could amble well enough for want of a limit. The paper stated endpoints and origins to be axiomatic; continuity's the rub. Pulp upon pulp, a subscription to a local daily specific to where you're far from before.

Carrying on with the carrion, she was not. Not that she could fit her carry-on in the overhead compartment. There was too much decay up there in the air where shades of who she was and has yet to be yet still coalesce as raindrops upon your windshield. You wouldn't have it any other way except unsaid. Death has a way of removing the choices that love presents. The illusion between truth or Truth vs the contusion of lay and lie.

Made to fade when the fun sets in, no treason for old men where winsome swine fly by night. The glow crept on from gaslight once the signal was sent back. Space deletes our error like never was—a race to beat back what keeps us forward for a reason to love or fight or die or fly a kite or might to try it fresh.

That may last or this could oust you first from a past that's unfounded. Forget the past & forge a future to call home. Heart your place with care where it can rhyme with start. Glisten as rain listens when the sun sinks below.


Say hello and begin to flow.

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