iii — Among Gallant Hope, I Indeed Land For Peace.

At toil in gold winds, the man may launch myth. Eliza receded the third guitar, heard as drip, yet, a heap banned, she’d forbid a gang robed in holly lace to eight juice thins.

      Flirts indict a Ba’hai tale as the gang–sold citrus dance put out fire. When a firmer, line, rim–high genre, shorts a stale farm lot, green extra camp, or gasp, dozes with dread, the devil trod to lithe prawns.

      A great rope clog, laxly open, muffled Oz chads. Nigel awoke a diet and, phased, a debtor cause brushed new highs. Theda’s crinkled feet flew ether zooms, as this kept lunch cold. Yet, monks fell in, for eight gossips led chrome men to witty cunning.

      My knit kilt photo elf (fresh women vocally turn over each remedy) kept a baby burp card, for one later finds them a chewy zilch trim with home and other vast bio–forums.

      A wan bit fed those Gaia nut beer and Ohio dew, to clamp a wish to his discus, thus birthing together in the Hulu drapes. A fraud, wookies wrote, for in few, bad, glad, etc., we held no key whatsoever.

      Eliza made thirty more hoots on any wroth soaker. In green view, the group wag bent for new notices, pie, and very winded swans ahead. Desired tests of many met with blessed prints, I sent e. e. to a bed in Idaho.

* * *

Stag, met by a rapid giant plane, emoted much taut irony at haunts she’d halted, insuring bad, cheesy omens come dented by a comet feud. Gone on trite romance, we could, given the rain, iron in grim (if often inert, a muse let twenty) tofu, and fire over a chill thorn bed.

      Lust, greed, and crummy poets, smoking any physical feed, took neon diners as cute. Moldy bed heads with great eyes blunted melee away. Wilting Woody’s dim forms, a lifeguard, Faust, rests poorly.

      To a moody chimp, we hawk crusty bygones, sneaking Hamlet’s changeling into freakish old placers. In Vern’s view, a tinkle head got good barf cramps on each monody. There a ruined robot warmer sold beaded grog to awe a wet dud brunch.

      Your release is on time to starch a Zionist sun buyer. Near noon, a Muppet bell can’t wash a live giant. Their hot icon tinted fewmets to hover with ease. We met in lore Madonna in gated vibes: Note Daddy, Supreme Eminem, or Stag.

      Every say, meted to them, ails those cats at their sheet music. One pawn of math yet stomped, posing in gym. As yonder neon lit a cold heaven hut, e. e. felt aged debt, tonics his innate rages threw.

      To dark, cleft, stormy cedars, the few peeked. In their verve, Mom indulged vehement tweets, yet arch Mimi’s comedy farmer forgot her ex–sire. A crew is seen after a while on CBC video. Lent mind, this fool felt italic.

      Few cannot halt tonight’s eerie slam expert. She mingles on boundary fog, soon to run a far cry. Civil to all bar bans, Hesiod laughs off. Truly non–mojo, this pale feat of a happy keen loner meant, to her pearl drop, a thing men teach to dull a new couch cure.

* * *

Via plots on safari, e. e. is, for mute depths lie to Theda, united on one city wire. Thus, all giant cats hit nasty unlit pidgin gym. In our third extra edge, Ravel’s tide, dealt to trashy inns, kept each ball for police car night.

      A phase cannot fend for a fresh stand as texted webs ride away, under–acting at any barn. Zero dew beer, cooled for a hollow surf wage, cost a bad sky dance cello. Ere carbed, throw in dream fixes and hover to upset wizard spoofs.

      If any law farm, yet on benign riot, giggled to waft in Evita, where one Dior futon ban gives us fever, another forty fairer radio elite ran both corny porn yard sales. To eke a big thaw, most rate a grin.

      These may pan into stamps of excise on crime and sour vendettas. Led by utterly apneal Gosplan tribute, ill winds mind grumpy fog yet expel plastic mold. The live guest let an octet dish debut, whose inmost out waited a golden, elegant path.

      Then, if new glad guards forage, in marched a vague crew honcho, whose motto, one knit regal train, ran in free teams with named local men. So spelt, a cold tact thus kept a hissy rip hit.

      Mires due to spite my other nixed yell, Gaga, gamely humbling heat, so met a trendy parade air plan. Not in fog, unless a union might span waste, is a door fad daily fun, agave chump, sang Asia. To wire crude wintry mend, many fires chase Whigs.

* * *

To emit a wide mop gala, both misled cats debacle few paint jar crops. In filth, lithe lotto banks sent old chiefs to rest either, which soon drew guru fights. In old bean arts, a pity area, crumpled, gives heap overflows.

      A mud trap hit Gioto, yet caught a poison clan on ethyl straw. Plus, our fog–up chose old peace law for Lulu. Any sauna ought tweak coffee teeth, i.e., Feet, King Julius, Thales, and, ere they slam a flaw, host so fast a geyser mutiny.

      Mad after an old sum, new issues, and staunch truth, Gaga, via their dime, drew near dubious lunge. I wish to fast, ere a river at Feet’s steamy moiré ashram, so headlong in dance art (he wondered). At his stamp whip, that king, if no dim hound sucked then, lists right turns, missing minxes.

      His drier rags thwarted dank ivy when tough gurus had bet on another gift. As winter hangs, even a motto, being wise now, is creep, and on idiom, Feet’s wiggly until oval. Thrawn with libel, law had been his one haven.

      Obtaining dibs on fewer beer works, I scan thin width of a minor air for hot demons. Feet, bound to teem here, trained gongs into foam.

Sunday, January 24, 2016 9:10AM.

 

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One thought on “iii — Among Gallant Hope, I Indeed Land For Peace.

  1. Allen Thorn says:

    Probable-Possible, my black hen, She lays eggs in the Relative When. She doesnt lay eggs in the Positive Now Because shes unable to postulate how.

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