dashing it all

We are chipmunks, or we would be were we wiser,dashing hither dither darting till we die.We race telling stories none of us rememberhow often they were told or when or why.The wind stirs leaves we fancy are emotions.A truth on Monday Tuesday is a lie.We learn sharp nostalgia when we leave the nestthen forget that(…)

twelve quick lines on a lousy lothario’s pickup line

He invited her in for a shag and, because it was cold, and she fancied the chances of warming herself on warm rugs, and the forecast was bitter with blizzards and snowbanks foretold, she accepted and leapt in. Put off by his cumbersome hugs she cornered the market on freestanding chairs and sat down. ‘Where’s(…)


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