Spare mints blaze into introduction: hands shaken, stirred by unconscious swishes with thorns as fever signs hot blood in the mammal-snake hybrid named for apples and oranges, two of the most similar fruit. Futility loves itself and I am at the precipice of the same shouts quiet sidewalks shoes of all types the claim to crime is a demand for just as I say. Simulacra, will you never shatter me, I would be grateful. I am afraid of losing my threads and sinking into a pillow covered in what I thought was drool and turned out to be I've been asleep all this time. Not going anywhere fast, outclassed by clarity's claims: submitted by earnest eyes against the system, structure, panopticonical whirlwind, springtime's prediction: there will be leaves, leavings, left; politics cries in its soup: there's not a vegetable in sight only flies.