Josephus Breaststrokes in the Dead Seaby Logan Fry She wrung her dilettante cloth, splurged a mediocre pond. To be a salty fossil at bottom. Mirth never foisted the lady from her lot. That was kosmic propaganda. Gomorric lacks the proper ring. A fondest fib, that talent can’t transfer. Note: keratin claws your nostils when kindled. Note her handkerchief, heavy with sulfur. |