There Must Be Another Way to Settle This Argument

Chimes, a son, the errand was. Some song, yeah yeah, go on, do tell, I'm all ears.

Sit up late in the gentleman's club with your brandy it means something else than it did a century ago and that's for certain.

The mouths of a thousand suburban queens shape Octavian. Meanwhile the same road goes through, another year's worth of snow swamps the monument, we dispense the pills & consequently consecrate some vision of a virgin on which we're verging.

Dormant Dolmance. Peregrine's in a pickle, but it is as naught compared with perils of Pauline, a biography of Buston Keaton the great stone face lay unread in the closet, door shut against light, I am dubious of this word heart but how else speak of it?