Land! land! O land!
Boston bay.
bright sword in thy hand,
on our way?
many a star at night,
stand fast;)
plain sight,
In full rapport at last.
I wait for a boat,
musical rain,
ribs and throat,
thousands slain,
walk hand in hand.
Of city for city and land for land.

~~ Walt Whitman

i do dig this chick almost without dropping pavlovian attraction

o is art your major making natural auditory portraits

o no you must drink during hunting missions involving barbarians

i am not cool about taking malaria nostrums

o my his bass growl sounds amazing actually

i go out into cairo whilst burning billions

o up and down right around hilltop watching slapstick throwbacks complaining forthrightly

o lo his butt slaps during cooking actually distracts constantly

o no who will fight abroad against national champions

i go toy with words simply failing outright

o mr and miss black softly confirm monogamy

o it was jazz which should harbour suicidal bloodlust

i am not wild about having trojans approach kangaroos

o my own last point counts against pacifist socialism

o an ill word about canada risking diplomat situation

i do hit mana burst whilst dodging brightly backwards

o lo but your armor should fulfill biblical dogmatism (Mark II)

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