A Picnic Next To Some Stones

Toast? Thank you. A towel? Ants, so many ants. Dry laughter in the tomb. Setting goals for the month. Taste of lemons when I squint. A thickening. From under the left front wheel. Drips. Simultaneously attracted and repelled. It’s kind of you. Under the shirt. The Worcestershire. Singing below, like wee folk, or a sentient fungus. Cornflowers by the road. Wasps. Ran over my viola with the new Subaru Wagon Crossover. I don’t know, I’m all confused. Aliens? I’m not saying it was aliens. Toad! Welcome to the darkness. It is certainly very dark here. I have a skull. I don’t have a skull. Come, children, we need you for this task. Wandering down to the corner of Elton and Wabansia. At the corner, a witch. She can’t speak German, she’s crying in the cupola. It’s all over. Periwinkle blooms next door. I am monitoring the situation closely.

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