1. Drink the drown summer. Someone’s babies dream of drinking drum. First it settles on you as nonsense, noise. As if words have been strung together aimlessly. And, maddeningly, regular syntax seems to be in use — it sounds like it should make sense. Shouldn’t that mean something?
2. And the sounds it makes are fine. Babies bring dreams to seams. Seams fit in a line. They are so fine that they are fun and even beautiful. Sometimes too beautiful to be confused. A long line of gold ribbon running from the butcher’s truck, a knife.
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