pate chaud de poularde........ the stain remained........ to purchase more beer........ in the area where the water meets the sand......... like a miner crouched by Cripple Creek......... crystal goblets unexpectedly at midnight......... open one and drink it................. new leaves hotbot green........ the last login statistics........ touching and yet separate........ when the desert gives way to the mountains........ listening for the sounds of his enemies........ and at night, trailing their families........ "We tender this premium beer..."........ like the links in this screen........ while the broken chair filled with snow........ to the woodpile four times................ touching and yet separate........ when the desert gives way to the mountains........ and at night, trailing their families........ new leaves hotbot green........ "We tender this premium beer..."........ like the links in this screen........ while the broken chair filled with snow........ to the woodpile four times................ It was September........ We called him Jerry......... as if she had never been gone........ if the location was changed........ or so it seemed........ in the separate nests ................ on a blue enamel plate ................ too many coats of varnish........ a helpless passenger while they play opera loudly........ Talk endlessly of their adventures................ another beer........ a shade darker........ imprinted with cacti and cowboy boots................ the circle of light........ ........ unexpected woodland events......... traces of supernatural activity expected in other eras......... an otherworldly glass of beer......... set into a decaying tree trunk......... the cabin where we were working......... fresh cream, chopped parsley from the garden......... the calming circular movement of my wooden spoon......... like picking columbine or wild blue asters......... the visual gap left by the departed beer......... before you drank it......... as if on the same server our minds were somehow linked......... forgot to note in the log......... open one and drink it................. his arm around my shoulders......... traces of a childhood accident......... stalking an intruder on cyberwire.org......... Unconcerned by my observation......... Or, had he been there all along......... undecipherable on his otherwise soft brown face......... in the shadow of slowly leaching tailings ponds......... they scattered when I tried to approach......... Only a computer could fathom......... too close to the Interface......... When I tried to touch them they always fled......... the aftertaste of fresh oysters......... In the old days, of course......... like Anchor Steam beer rapidly traversing......... on a ledge above the trail......... the interplay of natural forces......... The eggplant and cheese on my cold pizza......... It was raining again......... remembering champagne, a newly mowed green lawn......... I watched him emerge from the red door......... He was wearing a white shirt......... in the early morning,......... and touched my hand as I talked......... the way my body responded......... The water glowed......... I think about you all the time......... I moved closer to him......... no clock beside our bed.........


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