That is to say “Free Write.”
or, That is to write, “Free Write.”
A rosary for eyelashes, hear their penance in a tall wooden bookcase. It winds and splinters, gives grief to the high masters. She has cordoned the railways, I glimpse an even taller wooden parrot. He counts money in the back room. The crooks hover like puppet hyenas. Don’t you smell them? Don’t you hear them panting in multiples of five? Fifteen acres, twenty sour candies, twenty-five porcelain dollies, thirty cotton pantaloons.
Pass me the vinegar. Tsk, tsk, tsk. I know I should have asked the point guard to come with me.