Guess what, my singing has a square shape, un-bolted down in sections like rattles spinning for interpretation. Our values put up with this, putting us first
breathing hard, leaving doors open to irresolution,
to make availabilities for picking up the dissolved thread.

Once you really had us. I was choked up by your running out almost in a sidle. I told you we agreed a little but not a lot. The plotting — lackluster, suspended now — I hope you’re coming back for one thing, us.