the soda outside his hands is neither flesh nor fleshless in front of the hostile city honeys making rebellion with azured arms. the shaking shaman, fed and watered, got dressed up; a test to occur scoring breakdown on a tree in which a bird sits, who has closed one eye and is about to close the other.

the test was your usual y=mx+b sort of gig, you know the drill -- solve for x -- then plead your case like a breath of actually stifling air shifting its weight in your nose or crawling across your tongue to taste leek fortune's fool and present some kind of alibi while the beatniks gather on the sand to meditate haiku and the simplicity of their readings.