One remaining sees gun on plate. But they troubled me. I slept myself awake. Washed awake, I de-shone, but internal spaces pause more. And I sugfer spagetti, slapped by its stop.
Shoes fall off.
Now a cloth leg winds my alarm And the nose bust relaxes. All very, riding the odds. Don't try living in a tent. Tell the real story Tell the real story, which is of course very hard because in the real story nothing happens. Once upon a time. . .