May margins hold your dross of choice and limbo well accrue toward cushioning reflexive motion passing for accomplishment.
May tacit bravery be known as the Wallendas showing off their grammar and good taste while we sip sap as if such slush might offer needed quietude. May toffy taste of supple young momentum dreamed along moist atmosphere of wood and mood and synthesis. May distance pacify your tendency to live long sans lungs glutted with spores accumulating as the gulls of dream go by and timbre just resuscitates the drive-by natterings still short on cash as demigods with tats that lack great art May wind be met by gravity that holds the sun in place where practice churns redacted feeling soon shoved out on stage to be consumed or poked by regulation sticks and storied stones that once flanked riverbed where tones of motion thinned receptive earshot. sheila e. murphy
