|
Today at Eleven
Every arena organized so we kiss
under someone else’s sense fury retreads. Poorly equipped for midwinter, I want you never inside the world’s blandest emerald scheme. Rocket empty thoughts hound to love the final rates possible, play with me smeared all over the abyss taking another job. Of all the slanderous looking for people drifting apart, we dropped the tank, the tangled furor dog on the block. The scripts come to my house and I’m killed for a fun time deal. How many crackpot laminated spinoffs ramble the parkway? Lost a lot, glad to be along, or picked at soothing weaves in a small number of insulated cases. The beacon sure lights these small city no doubt sandbars. |  |
