Nonsense

a fairy becomes morning and a blue-haired tomorrow springs forth with summer twigs.

conditions attract half interest. it’s a talent to be a consistent clinker.

after two days of sun the drones of wind scurry past our faces and the accomplishment of a hike lends to mr. marx’s fascination.

he wraps me tightly like a child and forces my mouth open in an effort to expel the silence. delight and fear pass through my eyes simultaneously.

he listens, ties my hands, puts a pillow over my face and pulls the trigger.