Unhinged

Had they unforeseen nor unpacked the free-market wheel, the cause to spiral, drown out any new prepare, in flailing light, so i archived them between the handsome mint tulip mints, the catching sauces, buy and try me. Trusting in her amicable smile, the admonished cost had no place in a carbon date, that to affirmation, a restricted imprint of thermal power you called cabled-electricity. Little had they in power, the hokes soften in triumphant charisma. Same day of last year, the Antarctic sheet fell, and i hear, and i knew the warming stout man; remembering to underclass the wool she had brought from, this year’s, sale of fabric to knit by the swollen fan. It may hasten the involved splendor, to attach the hinging time, i look no further then returning to a cook, who looks longingly through the past, runs afoul of raising the echo of a compatible fame, losing the expiry of wisdom, finding you be well.

2019 Adam Blewett ©

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