Laughter; Render, RememberDerek Henderson
Vastly lost on hunt to the beautiful woman with open mouth a little king writes in little hand of society, of humans, of letters, jokingly. To fall, to flee—nothing of god stands in his muling. Choosing beauty, a burn belies his choice. A facet of my souvenir is its disposability—memorabilia an even due—if I plaster it with once-agains as many times as I remember myself so well I might delight in thought. And my remembrance of every member of the party as many as ten times each—a good memory— & the jolly life wears on me as a cue to send notes freely forth from all the aging parts of my body. Count my thoughts & count my recourses; all the beams of light in the world are unmade— Count me solved by all unmade that which means all my joy.
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