sure, we took stock of her peter carey impersonation that night,
a lot. summer on a boat begets the impractical – i mean, you know.
you liked licorice & still have a good arse. seagulls. random spurts
of fight; peals of bottle breaking through. why aren’t we naming
things anew? neologisms pretty as fairy-floss, like boredom.
there’s money left under cushions hinting at the keys, stuff always
remaining conspicuous. i’m not going to read the book, & wish
i could have said that: appeared coolly integral. song after song
a backdrop to mixed metaphors, wandering out of speakers. ack.

 

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