19th & Minnesota, in 57 Octaves Below Middle C by Kevin McIlvoy
Photo taken in the sadly defunct and sorely missed Higgins Armory Museum, Worcester MA
With respect to time, their rate of change of angular displacement had shifted. With respect to location, their limbs had asked their muscles for help, and had received no answer.
19th & Minnesota, in 57 Octaves Below Middle C by Kevin McIlvoy Photo taken in the sadly defunct and sorely missed Higgins Armory Museum, Worcester MA He could clear pretty Ann's stoop without snagging his heart upon thoughts of her cool arms and her lips and her darting tongue. (And who could that harm now she was gone?)
On a dare he gave himself, in 57 Octaves Below Middle C by Kevin McIlvoy No one says anything that might dispel the reverberating wasp-murmuring of the caged overhead lamps and the water lapping the pool lip and making licking sounds along the windowless rubbery white walls of cinderblock. No talk. No glasses in our hands. No golf clubs. No bottles pouring. Some of us adjust our suits, but that can make your skin a bad fit, so we readjust. When the Y matron, our coach, enters, she has showered. Her burr-cut hair is dripping wet. If your hair is dry, she glares, she sends you back. If your suit is immodest or too poor a fit, she'll tell you.
The Y, in 57 Octaves Below Middle C by Kevin McIlvoy Why will people who have leave out so much for people who would love to have one full serving?
I don't think—much—about them. I'm trying not to think. Think of it: do I ever think about them? I don't know. I don't know. What am I thinking poking into this much can? That does not sound like what I mean. An 8 oz. can of story, in 57 Octaves Below Middle C by Kevin McIlvoy It would be good to be soup. After the story silt was scraped out, when I was completely empty, I would like to admit, That's all there is to me.
A 4 oz. can of story, in 57 Octaves Below Middle C by Kevin McIlvoy |
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