good morning, all truncated

a bias in bunches with nothing but a slip into sleep, it pushes and pulls on the day, and is left with a tirade all touched upon.  it slinks and it slides until it is upright again although it seems but a semi-sweet notion into a darkened pool hall; balls hit and scattered at will, finding their way into corner pockets…the middle ground lain forth and stocked, casually, until they overfill with turns taken. 

an opossum awakes and plays.

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