fictitiousness tried to raise me better.

sunday was just that and her hair, soft and lost with leaves, fell over her shoulders and onto the extra bedroll i packed. a pillow.  a defined and drifting slight smile creeping steadily, behind some story of well lit morning eyes. so the story goes. full circle and ever bridging the gap between the points of tonights curvaceous, crescent, and western setting moon. that old pacific is cold ya know? take a dip, the waves are menacingly menacing. touch and go, bound by only the gravity that keeps it in check. once en route forever en route, forever nonlinear, forever nonnuclear. to bend the ear of old man time and see the far out. black holes eating starved blacken holes. a repertoire of reckless reconditioning. silent letters left out and up-off. the preservation of characterism. soliloquy-ily daffodil and a tightened tall careful rain fall.  packed up and thru the sands of ever. legs pressed, pock marked roads and tiny scars. the exploration of disinsinuation.

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