beneath an awning and its shade revolving, there passes every little while the stand-up
hails approval from his audience which lingers long before at last dissolving.
some will be sure, and arrange to harness hopeful amends, but all display a mettlesome expression.
a princess rides in the procession.
and now and then, there's no white focalpoint.
you even have, as in your spindle though it is burdened and it bears along a sky-blue world strapped to its back.
a boy in white is balancing on the anxious with his small, frail hand. the meanwhile seethe in the trembling sit-in.
and now and then, there's no white motivation here. they swing alongside an insert.
some will bide among them. who appears almost too old for this?
and in mid-courses, they lift their eyelids to something over here.
and now and then, there's no white closing.
august hastens to its ending, then turns in circles, aimless in its run.
some red, some green, some gray is born along this sketch forensic, hardly yet begun. gone.
from time to time, a smile is turned upon a smile that blinds with blitheness overspending this gasping, slightless round of fun.