Monday, 30 April 2018


A pulse is a man’s inner mouth. No, it’s important
to contain the rocker. It’s an inside clump of birches
and a box hedge. Most of the time a scare will appear
as a ripple at the precise instant of India’s breathing tube.
Audrey Hepburn seemed a lucky thing. She’s only like that
for about an hour, a barefoot doll in the lobby of the Overlook.
A doll in a doll’s house, blandly saluting clocks. She’s just
having a bad slender, like the city of Bombay. Perhaps
a coarse blanket fell from a small head to cause multiple agonies.
But what if a monk?

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