27/30 – catch up

Break pace,

words flying by without

consequence or

comprehension,

word salad symposium,

impressing passages in advantage,

for some sense of pride and accomplishment,

trippy tripping soliloquy that speaks

of sound and fury

signifying

no thing like clocks in the

bathtub bourbon burgeoning,

begonias be gone like snow in August,

so many clipping catchphrase festooning in this frazzled fulcrum fundamentally fastidious,

dropped ballads that barter for a Bastille barricade,

before the brilliance is diminished and I

stop.

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