how to do again what never happened to begin with

"it's a hairy day out there today a very hairy day today. it's a fare haired and wooly weathered day out there today."

Little lamb licked her fingers and toes, in between the nail and the skin, in between the hair and the nail. In a mutter of minuets, a ballet of words, nothing scattered, everything empty. Beckons lead to come out like blood. Beckons lung to come out like heavy dirt. Every breath could beat into the ground a rhythm for feet to step into.

Getting up off the ground is tough for a Little Lamb leathered by Mother Cow Queen Koopa. Cake and Love and Lost and Moon. All the things that get scattered at night end up on the ground in the morning. In the daylight you can find and collect them, and vomit your past dues and ends in the local bush.

BUT YOU ARE CONFUSED MAY
MAY LAMB OFFER MEAT TO YOUR BRAIN

hunt and gather all the scattered blather
by the end you'll turn belly up
feeling beautiful
in every man coitus carnal mortal camus
"man is mortal, camus is man, camus must be mortal" bullshit

lovers are tied threads to a not impossible but practically impassable occurrence into the unknown. Once unknown is known is ceases being unknown. Unwired, undiscovered, uninspired.

BACK YE DAMNED CHILDHOOD YEARS ADOLESCENT FOLLY where dreams were constructed of things like Satori, and the Light before Consciousness.

I fake YE. I fade ye. I make Ye sound like a fury, I'm unsure of sound like a clam shitting itself inside accidentally. What then? And who changes oysters' diapers? Where diapers are shams. And marriages.

and marriage is. dead.