Faded Houses Green

Mingled foxes agreed to bear giddy bears, feeling the mutable consumption wilt with glad bacon and lousy loafs.

Numbers and letters, numbers of letters, numbed the lettuce and blood between the horse and the giddy whale, with unstable, birdlike form and function. But that’s not what she meant. Room for Bertram to roam warranted cultured treasures of awakening, fortified by chambered regions and spontaneous spontaneity–striking with strife. But that’s still not what she meant. Pledge-bound citizens and prudent fleets of sunken rags pilled the fleece with contrary motion, but sometimes parallel fifths of her favorite whiskey come lately.

Bitter experience on the quay gave three quid to the giddy status quo. And that was exactly what she meant.