This morning offers a re-pasture of my fielded desires in the buttered-syrup sun feeding my quick break fast to the plate, ready to serve up a hot one two out-ings in a row with all the battering rammed into well stacked imagery, as long as I spring enough May Pole sear ripping to tear my attentions astray for more. Don’t forget to complement and butter up the spread. The third time is charming, for sure. (I’m)personally Related, but obscured to Man dates of time (there’s no time like the present for whatever it is we might now be doing), unless you’re pie-eyed and paying attention in the other direction. Disjointed memory data holds a twelve step relapse program to ensure that nothing certain is changed and all else remains in flux, looking as good as a very thin pancake. Shear flattery. Food for thought: sounds like another morning meal to me (how lucky can I be?), as American as Ample Pie: Stupor Size Me. Thanks, that was good to the core, and now it’s done and I’m down to seeds and stems again, too. Sage advice needed. Supplicants may meditate and apply within.

 

With a refreshmentality of breath, cornered stones garden in the thresh of the afternoon as the day is reaped hour by hour into the evening harvest, to be bundled, sheaved and heaved upon the daily wagon to the hay barn of reminiscence and experience. Not unlike things that aren’t pancakes.

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