So we hula-hooped and longly. Lurking
in a circle. I um and I rained, ixnayed and
ogled.
Flip the front flap slip-and-slides across
the flingers.
Everything is tell-tale, goaling along
smoothly along. Was neither strained nor
sliding, nor golden, nor hackneyed and
flushed. Sidled up and down. Everything
was meteors after midnight.
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