…OR IN THE CENTERS OF STREETS…

[response to “Melting candles mean nothing none knowhow…”]

For the rest they drew water.

Rest of the time co-possible with this experience.

Eliot was not interested in tragedy.

But deeply to find for the rest of it.

Her hair hanging down she bent her neck over
a notepad where her hand was crawling.

For the rest of it she was unable to add noise.

The voice carried far into the room.
I will carry it and always find it to be like
but not quite tragedy.

It has only three sides but abuts a wall.

Not interested but it gets no better for the rest of it.

Deja vu will be a welcome feeling after the revolution.

Please for the rest of it

just one hand.

[read response: “She bit into a painted brioche…”]

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