key-laden ladylet

your burlesque poetess(s)

carved a keyhole here

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Trois cents
clutch to the bosom!
300. (tues.)

365-Day 88

Wine skins and calves must rest
tender livers. We sleep, respectably tweed
alarm clock-owning adults.

Slow to rise, take stiff rag
in hand to dust, wipe down lap desk
spend a cereal bowl writing...

Last night kissing in the right
(wrong) pastry shoppe, North End.
Genuinely savoring tin pan eclairs,

waggling tongues rubbing ankles
against rain-gutters. Alley, my small whale
car awaits. Inspired to(day) grit coffee molars

use hand-blown glasses in Craigslist
gigs swamp. Wear fallout wellies,
an interview with maybe terrible knots
in the neck before the fire marshall
fails to arrive.

Just because, Tricia's surreal photo of us from Dec. (right?) ~ WSInkdrip session/Chronicle News feature on steampunk-filming. (arting fodder) i like our many-directional 'hurry up and wait' faces.

week44: 1
here are the rest :


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