A short totter, and down we go in the dew. Haha. Splash. Clink the bottles all.
Look, John, look: celestial cows gallop to new grazing Bobo spurts his seed at the Great Egg the souls of the poor go home after dinner on Mars the scimitar of Murphy matakōkiri gift of fire the bolts of Pinguin’s War Pahokatawa comes to say all’s well the common man flees before tyranny and the general sprint.
You nod off with a big fat smile. The poplars flitter.
Much more, much more, I hope their fire is Physics, and a bit of Maths:
some quantum-ish, phenomenal monotony along some cold immensity –