we grow backwards, huh? by Robyn Field & J. D. Nelson

hello, focaccia. nice to meat chew.

 

ambleside, winter & whey, thrice. vapid p.

 

because the herring fishers skimmed the bay and my sea lions no longer barked,  more.

 

alba, crüe nitro? w. as polished, m. (candy flash egg city in the balance - future in the mirror.)

 

egdar allan winter. crows chicken soup works as well.

 

fleck spocky, chew neighbor & hives (market st.) the balance of zippo rooster, cuddle a born ankle w caps & the downtowny e.

 

market st beyond brannen et al. praise be willie mays and the cove of mac. i caught the bonds homer.

 

a plate of grown, hubble speaks to crab nebula and space odor w matching curtains from a kit, bonus ground round a tusken raider and flea market bingo cape. how icelandic!

 

i

will

take the crocus bulbs, sir

i love smelling like pete rose

 

a rose is a rose is a rock of ages still rollin, causing late nite confusion with similar gas can or the 8-plate wing monkey for whom the bell shoals. crimson heck, a little weaver.

 

faulk chewie

i am so hungry for moors

 

columbo mayhew

iberian nachos, spock mask (let's face it)

taa-aaa-aaa lingo, west beastern

 

it beats ice(bergs), sometimes i wonder, what would i look like if i didn't have a beard.

 

iceberg slim, a former tusken raider, was lifting whey and managed to detail the pocket of keel eye - drifting desk and page plantings, a common noxema or russian helmets, zines.

 

oakland smokin flux rusk and they will be the super(bowl) (cham)pions of the whoa (ld)

 

hurkle seep la mancha, olive brine yes or know what toot, ham vs. civic w pliers morgan the jones and jeff is still sick.

 

and jeff, yes, i am jeff. i know. i am sick.