Tuesday, February 07, 2012


Mona's hotpotch is  combinatory to the nth degree. Not a dilated dialectic yet a round sphere of movement over line of tie and time the imaginary of concluding becoming and rewinding. A hodee-podgee don't' do a daughter on a dare. A king there gawking. Pity is she won't be panned in flatness . A cold water sweeping the main funicular.

JIll   wont be  " bringing together of shares or properties in order to divide them equal." Yes, he's equal to each fenced gash and the back blade of its romance the imminent blaze of forest. A treacherous course in any family.


 Jill continues. its  A legal qua and an illicit thing an agent  brought her bully. Feet in the trench warfare? A commencement to every day's nuance.  A shapely pot it is and she's breath caught. On the careworn thing sliding off her tongue of any trance. A terrace ? a come along sombre precursor lightening stroke to the genersoous anxiety of her not capital self.An economy of desire voided as you pay one or the other. She's bread thee bawdy? A brothering brothel and the economy of the wide world.