Thinking Is Fun Comments

December children in inner city days; sun rays refuse me over silver aviators police are bees and we the pollen menthol minted breath conversations are held like infants. in metro stations and we laugh infamously for infinite instants of misfits and bitch-fits i traveled a distance. p.d.'s on cb's requesting assistance. we, December children, filled with indifference we've nearly accomplished the complex of Gryphons word wheeling wizards with warm whiskey whispers busy men take the ugliest pictures while finding themselves in the loveliest mixtures preaching to teachers and teaching the preachers breaching the leaches and reaching the bleachers pledging allegiance to speechless procedures half of the features are having some seizures all i remember; of children in December