The steeple tree is always falling today in the wood your hand the flower walk and the long east of it, the last one Trish the bar four pints distress bit lip call Yes, I know it's, Yes taffy-pink sky, orange stripe leaning up, it stutters hers, the place is, evenfall & the bird-perch pole wipe the hair slowly across bare and my skin a garment No, it's ok, I'm ok a tightness gathering "heaven blotted region."