The Sapling Purr

Sometimes known as the naked monarchy purr is a truly remarkable little ravage. The only mediators that keep the tenets checking certain boxes and benighting surly apparatchiks.

This is not intended to be confusing. It is incontrovertibly clear: even the outside tendency is very different—they’re the only mammalian thermoregulators that can keep their bohemian temptations within certain limits.

Don’t you see?

They lacquer their sentences to the page. Their senescences are renown for their trajectories—red, indifferent, full of ermine flourishes. Have you ever seen a stoat without it’s coat? A ghastly sight that! It’s getting warm in here, now, north of 79 degrees—so a digresssion is in order:

…petrostates and oil companies are remarkable little animators…profligate & skinflint users of boffin templates in nubbin thinking…ignorers of dictionaries…losers of bobbins in dark corners and drowning in unspooled yarn…oh, vengeful visions…

Digressions over, we return to the gist: our low metabolic and respiratory ratings—wait, was this ever about that?

And so we resume. Wee! We are serenaded in our skullcaps and slender slanders.

We wish for a conclusion—you certainly do / (I secretly hope this would go on)—but you prevail.

It stops.

What I’m Reading:

“Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?”

— Edgar Allan Poe / “A Dream Within a Dream”