February 28, 2016
It's in the brain drain hairs hanging from wax in most any kind of drain. It's the squirrel coming down the tree. The political facts I cannot explain. I hear your mumbling the essence of curl, the click of the latch and The whirl of the microwave. These things cannot move. The spaghetti in the scalp the dangle starry from the cup and the tail arched over the small back. What is the lifespan of this small rhodent? I'm thinking four years at best. Life is a hurl into perhaps. It is a senseless lurch. I wonder where we go.