family is past blood and more about location and limits itself to innermost gears of how you work and plod along through growing times.
what is seen as silence as if a trappest monk has visited and sprinkled fairie dust all over the place. giving a fuck is sometimes hard to muster.
time is telling. babes of the fam qualify for more than hand-me-downs but are rather ripe apples of their father’s eye. a lecture is due and a lecture is primed.
words hang in the air yet the young man cannot get circulation down to his feet. terrible times fold back in on themselves. she gave up long ago and no ambulence could make it on time to save her out from under the root problem.
the story continues. the story does ruffle feathers and pull strings. the story is a stiff glowing in the dark wind to be told from the rocking chair. but there is no family left, at least for now, bothering to rally ’round that chair.
move to the wild west and don’t say anything to anybody and ya should be alright steady preppin’ for the gun slingin’. a smile found smirked beneath his mustache to kill you without a second thought. who’s been around longer and who will behave from their respective age? I know seniors who inspire.
pass on pass off pass out past gone. can’t read all the stories in the world, too many papers doin’ their thing. past caring.
she sold kisses at the carnival stand to lucky gents with hardly any cents.