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Sun & smoke poured like brandy in the thin, almost
invisible line in which we seem  to cross
a great gold opening of prairie on a calm
weekend afternoon. Things always
turn green after eight, muffled by clouds. In the
sky with diamonds sparkling.  And
a hint of lime. When you stir it up, be
everything Bob Marley ever intended for you to
use to slap your ass. I mean that strictly
interpreted, as in a Holy Book by
one who honors slower path. He knew
what she was capable of and it didn't
Leave a line behind him, all they want  is there shopping
Not exactly what we hoped,  but alright
-finished 12/26/2013 7:08:00 AM PST
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Project name: GOD he goes so slow!
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