🚀 go-pugleaf

My own particular love is like a red-letter red-light bedlam of roses;
comes there a day when I can foretell a trace of word or deed before
the fact and I shall have cause to entrap him, but, in greatest truth,
as I keep observing his passes & trespasses & surpasses, I cannot
believe that time will come.  As I recall, my second(ish) last(ish)
husband was sad(ish)ly killed by a cia(ish) agent masquerading as an
omnibus as he roller-skated down Bond Street, singing lethal(ish)
dirges; I trust that M does not enumerate that chic(ish) mode of
self-transport, at least, among the accomplishmenaces that would make
my eyes smile at any far(ish) distance.  King Libalp and the Knights
of the Malte Shoppe shrewably stridented in a capital scream: I'd advise
you to thump him, libjohnrmarsh, rilly hard, if he tries calling you
"BOY" again: he'll be extremely understanding as he knifefights you
hackingly, I guarantee it.

Sing: "Scaramouche et Pulcinella // Qu'un mauvais dessein rassembla //
Gesticulent, noirs sur la lune..."  -- Excuse me, I mean:

		      Must all successful rebels grow
		      From toreador to Sacred Cow?
		      What cults he slew, his cult begot.
	    	     "In my beginning," said his Scot,
		     "My end;" and aging eagles know
		      That 1912 was long ago.
                      Today the women come and go
		      Talking of T.S. Eliot

and, briefly, of John Cage.

Having stated in diehardline that it would be my severest pleasure to
"follow you to the selvedges of the world & over", how could you doubt
the wishfulness of my strobedientally Budapestering you on any mapped
pin-point?  No camels, though.  Now your physiological localefaction
has been narrowed to an "approximation to the point directly above
[yr] heart and between [tes] yeux", that same strange and imprecise
place is where I dwell and, for yr record, yr book of hours &
revilations (sic) & scraps of songs, and yr possible intentions of ever
absconding to (soli)tarry in a geographical anywhere, I wish you to
know, if you do not already know, that I would not do without you.
Hang on, turning the page, here's another:

		     "I think of my wife, and I think of Lot,
		      And I think of the lucky break he got"

Or so they sing.