Let me morton he fleshy thunder -- jim leftwich

Let me morton he fleshy thunder

When the source last worried its makers slight, to misboot the dust is everything, everything is permitted, the fact that this line is found elsewhere in our milieu: "vote for the serious souvenirs of toil" -- in the middle of the watch is a buzzing urge. Collage in opposition to geographic highlights, the deep stone on the room assemblage, elucidating chronological activism entwined between present-day sources and wide-ranging literary struggles, the dream gurgles and history gargles, boundaries moreover American and embraced. What is the role of the flounder, the sturgeon, the pike, the carp, the parrotfish, the smallmouth bass, the eel, the perch, the catfish, the trout, the bream, the members of a specific set of broadcast possibilities, the messages of physics, roles, strategies, tired carrion breach toothpaste regions expected to arrive in waves, gave a, with the, theater, to be, few instead, actually existing conscious conflicts, state struggle, their limited would (wound?) (world?), and act against, from the city, the serial forces of collective governments, the plastic arks and furry teacups of our founding fathers, virtual undisturbed time, disturbance, bodies?

Zawn. Impossible due to his been or had, wake of with him boat miraculous, two conceived of, on board the destination, sail for six months, our daily pond barnacles wave: nothing is true. Oh say can you Joe Room, the he, his in here, gradually sat up along the door face, the home of Mrs. Cabin-in. Red glanced up sitting, Oh set off risks nests, say us? Touch suddenly her captain, Mrs. Door. Strides rushed, took aimed, and window.

Ear-fragment rung, Philip Room asked. The sailor no said the sailor went. Now you first nobody crew, said Oh, pulling out a sailor thought by the lifeboat. Get the sailor bargain Oh, took suddenly all for a Sunday mess of dirts. Brandish him, say. Gnaw now said No, built drinks in the dog. Let me morton he fleshy thunder. This sailor grabbed the Missouri through their sleep. Pulled both drop clings forward. As to, two up, behind the morton brandished witch and flag.

Free gust of dust, Captain Mono cold, walked Ing out behind the shoulder, stuffing an open revolver twice: So finch! Gallantly the radio! Streaming washed! He put out the socks. Jersey coast setting sun comrade socks artist... lifting his captain he fired, he launched the head o'er the ramparts, Dr. Bob, bobbing through the lifeboat air. Are you the rockets among Captain Two Seats, by the passengers and messengers red glare? They were pushing the leapt and shoved awake.

Desk-Gates slithered through the yes eyes towards the boat lowered by handed care. Take Joe Noise under the ropes and row, the captain Oh say. A third heard can you see his looked in. What do I want to thick tick easy toward? Going then naked hipesque and toothless. We'll  kink out the withered walk of a butcher sandwich. By the dawns crowd of deck chairs we launched an early light. There, said nothing, eyes rigidly in hysterical shoe. Teeth forward. Shovel a wedge of shot, hitting, rolling, shitting, trolling, soiling, tilting, toiling, silting, sitting, tilling, willing, wilting and scrambling. Rambling automatic, he ordered. Let as, the cry, some were, let go! yelled a hand side knife, a rose boat knife, bloody into the gun.

Oblique stern. Dabbles limen. Parsed excellence. Allied dice. The sailors feverishly bath tar tooth. Swimmers that swamp at thorn bath. Oh banner yet news showed disaster. Say wave graphed finger, said Miss Finger. O'er the land of the hippos were tanks.

jim leftwich

12.01.2016