Wet is the water on the weather weathering the feather of the nature that breaks a neck with such casual parlance. Feeding and a fuelling, cast offs are driving it all to the edge of the water and when it hits it hits with a slip into a trip that flips the hips.
Trapped in the excess of the wrap and a fool for the times of insignificant seconds, the merry and the jolly writhe in contorted pain. Limbs fold in on and over each other, bones, not able to conform to the flow of emotions, break free from the skin and attempt to spread out in any and all directions.
Careful of the rush to lunch. Care for the grunts that crunch.
Written on Wednesday, 20 December 2006