in kooyong road lasers lead their throat apples into the wind by the sea mark, observing for one attosecond, but you can die for me anytime. I’m not protecting you from anything. you’re learning, but nobody likes me: guess, six waltons have more wealth than a row of pencil pines, pendle pipes, pedal bikes, frisky tykes all toodling on the wing. do you believe foraminifera prey on autotrophic and/or heterotrophic protists. slam those electrons push them molecules around no such thing as look no touch nochange, terrible food for worms. a whipping wind, the dunes soaked, the beach tightly muscled. they stay dead, don’t they. rampant potato creeper, you’re learning you’re slow but. billionth of a billionth of a second. i’m already paid for being involved with rooks about lost love or loneliness. I feel so miserable without you it’s almost like having you here.
from your proffered tin
we’d take just one sucret
I’m the only one in my family with narrow shoulders, a real nuisance all my life with shoulder straps, purse straps etc. I see in this photo where I got those shoulders. Here my paternal grandmother, Irene Patenaude, wears her best for a pre-wedding portrait, c. 1916. Wish I’d inherited her thick dark hair.
Yesterday afternoon a great set from Stephen Brockwell who goes off on his various tangents and interests and comes back with crisp poems, and a fine open set with highlights like rob mclennan and Steve Artelle who also, afterwards, gave us tips on how to find the poets in Beechwood Cemetery. You just have to ask him! He is deeply into Ottawa history, works at the Archives, can get any info we need. Something to take him up on. And those doughnuts! Thank you Stephen!