Walking away from oceans of taxicabs, that is my gift. Quickly, you swim under the igloo and tell a ghost story to the elders. Such a boon, a curse for a second, a barrel of mustard on your foot. The slipper surfs up. Weeding warps my lips. Raucous round eel excavation triumphs.

Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger

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