Jump to jingles jelly poured into a tub. Gelatin comes closely to entering the subway station on 34th Street. Salvation spews out of the volcano so swiftly that there’s no time to make a peanut butter and apple butter sandwich. Sometimes we are rushed and we can’t count our toes. Invaluable angles perceive obtuse circles in breathing calculators on planets too far to travel to. Linking lounge acts is my specialty when I’m not making freshly squeezed orange juice.
Stumbling along the sidewalk 