justwrite 6 august

flagpoles above the fields yield the rights of way to the left to stay above and beyond the call of duty the dirty suits polluting the fruiting trees the fleeing bees ringing the bells of smelling salts halting the haunting hollows from their hallowed shallows the callow behavior too sour to savor the pineapple saviors delivering us from evil from people from steeples great and small from curtain calls in the fall of the year the kingdom of calontir broadcasting their feasting and fasting schedules the menus growing up in rugged cups the fuss out of sorts the forts we build and the whine we've chilled to spill out at a warmer time once the dining fine has been paid once the skunk has sprayed its own trunk and spayed its own end to no avail a tale twice baked and an ending three times faked out and shaken down with crowning glories inaugurated which is coronated like two gentlemen of verona in a sauna and one asks hey you wanna and the other says why i oughta and so this is when the mail gets delivered with quivering college-ruled lines defined by a matrilineal spin swimming in and out of focus a soapdish for a boat and a slippery slope from which to hop and skip and flip hotcakes in mistaken ecstasy the fumbling next we see a slide of raw hides and lion prides all flaunting and taunting their naked tails and failing to reach their own limits to number their own digits in a reasonable order the source of all chaos is not being your own boss