Too much is soon enough children scatter and waltz into the sky dispensing rainbows and forget-me-nots. Of course they are quickly forgotten. The world is composed of all it lacks thunder and tulips in clouds at the lake asparagus and quiche. In your hand I kiss spare parts then wolves follow us in a brougham mumbling about the economy concerned or otherwise lost in conjecture and innuendo. Maybe we should pause. Chinese moon people probe successive nights suitcases highlight suspects various couples threaten hunger and odd numbers seventy is significantly larger than eighty did the crown even acknowledge that. The dead are sentient and move warily among us conversing dissenting drooling buying deodorant and toilet paper like everyone else until they are finally alone why shouldn’t their votes be counted.