Minced Present Tense

She's leggy though inordinate depth entangled the attention span of oncoming vehicles. The theories people come up with for air. Entonces said the driver. Just so said the copilot. Imagine said the passenger. Once I was an infant as devoid of blondness as this pair of primed parentheses. My wristwatch came with the small wrists. Three pounds eight exactly. Wit begins this way: imported, noticed, rewound. So many sure bets linger after they are parsed. The school marm left her gloves right where I turned them in. We met beside the common room uncommonly cold and it was right for quilted wear and tear. Some parent came in whistling a tune whose title I cannot yet place. It is embarrassing to borrow sugar, just as it is difficult to pray in retrospect. The library I frequent asks little of its patrons. Urgency's my major motto. When I want a book, I wail. And pretty soon the librarian, the leggy one I mentioned earlier, comes in to quell what seems a patent overreaction to desire. Things settle after I have soothed my nerves with excerpts, but nothing is the same as living in the moment between covers and expounding on the glee of that. A pure reaction to self-made happiness is more of same. The intonation's relevant as well. Likewise, the color of integrity, a pleasant whalebone.

Paternal gravity, informal tithing in the dark, gender traffic in the psyche