There is a part of life
half. The past few
having gotten far worse.
Furnaceine daliencier,
we three have an attache
each. Harbinger robot,
machine of flesh wrought
of serif'd em-dashes may
you have the good idea
and implement it, and
have the jeans come apart
in the crotch first,
(boyishness wearing scarily
from your face) and not take
anything not for granted when
they fall apart. You've swung
low, sweet one. You
anxioust in the drab
cotton jumpsuit. You've earned
your erudition.
