Fronds of th 1-9. Cusp of twentieth double-decker, crammed with crisis – peel th scab, give er’ a wash – on yer’ way. So, th call to qualms – whole hunk of complete, unfolding, impending remonstration-reave from my projects Nabeg, Citizens of Nowhere, Indigenous-Residual-Autochthonous & other ardent-argute-agile-abrasive-asymmetrical-apex gathering (or indeed, gathered) in the storm clouds. Crash-landing over th coming months. Here’s a dram of some January skirmish for th flower-beds, soon to heave with nothing but the swaying of stamens.
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