| Odd prose. |


ScriptTest, test, four-five-six were skipping the before numbers because we would like to bring your interest back to center stage. Tonight we have a script.Script
In this script there is a lovely woman who ages like the Sun and dies after everyone else has closed their eyes.
In this script there is a young boy who always wanted to hold a sword but never had the arms to lift a match.
You might be asking some questions. But were not bothering to guess them.
Instead were going to leave the floor with all the deta


The Great CollapseAnyways,The Great Collapse
A long time ago came a monument, fiercely depositing checkers and kings and queens across a barren courtyard.
There were children, here, and they danced across empty shoes,
hoping to steal a pair or two.
The world was as buoyant as they were full.
So they kept the courtyard barren.
Along the river floated old man Trouble,
whisking memories way in a flaunting bubble. But the past still graced the newborns days, and all became scribes for the ancient ways.
Minutes rocked like empty


Outside DeskYour brows lifted like hot-air balloons against the Sun, hinting that bones were shattered; but you still admitted to some metallic fortitude.Outside Desk
I wanted to snap your crate whimsically, as if you were nothing and shriveled and dead anyways. But youd brought twenty phonebooks, knowing I cant gait past them.
Flick-bit the numbers down; I set teeth on A through H and swallowed.
But the fullness of my stomach after left me fetal on the carpet.
I cannot take your calls any longer.


ChocolateThe world is tomorrow, reserved by chocolate bars held by chubby little girls who sit on and betweenChocolate
car seats between cars between roads between fields between mountains between seas between oceans between continents under clouds between lightning through rain against thunder below space and the stars and the Sun and the Moon and maybe even God.
But those chocolate bars still have enough power to reserve tomorrow.


Baubles and BrodiesHeat rises in the coliseum That I call the cityBaubles and Brodies
Sifting through a penny-worth thrift shop In the long-forgotten collections Of brodie helmets and ladys cigarette holders, I find a little ring, perhaps a few thousand years too young
Did it once belong to a sultry Persian odalisque? To a Roman empress, cloaked in luxuriant indigo? My heart skips a few beats The clock skips a few minutes
Among these rusted doughboy saucers, The jewel of all jewels shone past the limp rust green The murmillo of my heart battled
The thraex of my br
| Hi. I'm Matt. I drive a car that goes vroom. |
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