27 december

looking at the statistics you can just miss the butterfly flapping surprise in the face of all comers the numbers adding up the pages and the rage is the thing you can eclipse the sun the rips the run right around the stocking locking all the barrels and caroling all the tunes we and the moon and the man with the swoon in his step we leapt past the sweep and we keep our own counsel we trim our own tinsel and if you ask me there's a bonnet for that bee but don't let me keep you don't let me deep you into the motion because i'm too good for my racket i'm too taut for my tennyson and the fun has begun again without the standard four-part dropout service the candles can't handle their wax these days and we pray for delivery in thirty minutes or less if the creek don't rise and the cheese won't slide but the good lord's willing to let the toppings go their own separate ways the raise could be happening the napkins could be dampening in the passenger seat of a hopeful-eyed radio-singer-along we're strong in our faith of something good happening i am wondering and wandering out under the sky because otherwise well where are you really it's hard to be over it although sometimes you're through it and sometimes you knew it but never can you see it if you're right in the middle of it and reading you're like shove it! but so nice that you don't say that because hey if you could weigh that you'd have quite a pound of hay that doesn't matter at all