photo from deviantart.com
Sympathie
We hoped we were thrashing the saddlebags lobed with diamonds, we hugged the amount of trees as we hungrily waded the swamp. and have the expresso. We wanted the moonlight consanguineous to the turpentine, To beleaguer the power of the surgery. By taking the rejection out on the Panasonic air conditioner until the feet is blameless, It isn't like any request, and taking the responsibility to ignore anyone's advice, That way to do research is thrifty. you wonder why its good to be dead, wearing a military hat. When she grew, she took sixty- five bullets in the military uniform. The Dances Sacred and Profane wasn't synthetic. The ways are a disgrace. After the morgue were no longer sightings. The symbols of the hospital. And a cadaver in the Chevrolet. But that agenda that you have, how many survive into adulthood? For the concealment of carrying it out alone - and harrowing for a while, then chance and its colours. Sad Peggy The downturn was the playwright. Midnight. It shadows the Destroyer sample that has become the abuse. The rivers long enough to find one another are usually saphenous rooms with newspapers articles and arugula, and beleaguered homes and extracorporeality. There is a galliardising looking glass at the bottom of the stairs. for all the people who disappeared to be pinned to. The idea is to keep on escaping his awareness. But he was especially no one. The Doric columns used to stand up as an afterthought, And use the curtains as enantiomorphs and sternocleidomastoid. The Whiskeys astoundingly strong. caveat emptor We don't know what the R rated movie would look like so we skipped cafe de flore or cross- referencing the ringed finger in the blue windowpanes with the marriage, It still glitters it means the largest death is largesse. It is rather than fighting, washing the combination of the sleeping pills there in the water and crying emotionally, or taking the bicycle as far out as the bridges, It is like one moon after the transgressions, Alma in the kitchen, then back to monitor the emails we were writing. The only reflection is only a wounded man with Walgreens running shirt, How we saw the Spalding basketball. Biography: Rabiu Temidayo is a critical essayist from the Sorbonne. I have been published on Malahat Review, Juke Joint Journal, and Dreich magazine. Twitter: @rabiutemidayo
Fevers of the Mind 