I used to think there was precision-less route of circumfrence when I understood that speed was just a setting and the art-form of package-handling would take on heights that felt all too breezy in cards and the locomatordorinator flashed me for going 37mph and I traveled 16 miles on a car destined for axled-death left for 65 and no wheels and I was told “Move!” only to find it took 9 minutes until the wheel was gripped and the fire hydrant bred a baby for in-utero recruitment. I made a life-bet return last night, I’m still-indebit but the baby puts me over 15 I gotta re-pay sometime around this correlating-oiling-bend.
Somewhere in that, swift and quick don’t relate to the boom of the curl of my frown.
petrichor - archive 