J. and her son arrived with an upper caste K, wearing ballcaps and tall,
Saw the laboriously torn letters, a cross on the floor,
Smiled the guitar and stopped the bleeding artists from hardening into
apples left to sit alone in a closet for months
without the possibility of contriving of he, Leo.
I was drunk on Goliath, for I am no David, but boy howdy I had a good time.