Envy me the summer clean with hot light I can walk through while you simper
about liking rain. A gimlet anyone would trade their eye teeth for. In
other news, the phone along the way kept cranking out interrogation like
the speech of youth sounding enfeebled by rehearsed uncertainty. Give back,
says everyone. But first, do something. Then what, inquires the martyr.
What will I be (given). Right left right goes the procession. Whose feet
are whose? Can you say "systems thinking," boys and girls? Do you know
frills from cleats?
Sheila E. Murphy
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