quit joshing this near the manure

implicit gravitas unleashes as you were from the meticulous endowment that propels a wraith out of mere stitch. is that your faultline or mere cinders after grackle call to various imposters? the sheets are all untied. the dreams vie for indelicate emporia. recall the window feed? the dreaded deep end? the dependable mobility of stun guns pointed at dry laundry where the sky becomes a sure division problem? whose story is the one about the tentative messiah grappling for a job description without exclamation points? who tries to multiply a posse times collective nouns endorsed by magistrates? some clip art looks best in the rain. some rain looks best in situ. and the snow light has to be the prettiest young blue I've yet inculcated into breathful and found selves, your own among them.