...pleasure before Hey, that your vox?
For the poet art administrator, hissy fits of modesty are unimpressive, swept up and vacuumed off each floor.

A year in taxes and you’re a neo-accepter of excess, making, being particles since and before the temporal.

Fits of pique are objective misnomers, eating and breathing them, too, as our ideology-swept rhetoric of double quotes administrating burgeons. Omniscience is officially sanctioned conjecture. Modesty goes as the evolution of disquiet is cutthroat, a huge family of arrivistes and custodians.

[w John W]