Cunning she was, her energy had no limits, her over the pole-“my peer!”-“not yawning” over the pole/cool yonder self, inside of the all the rage squares of the gram-of-the-instant, In a way so clear, had me feeling not to anymore tired timid, I became tough-writing-machine-ridgid.
When I first saw her running-jumping, It was the track and field announcement of the Olympics, I being Avalon The scribe, the simpler, the simplest, was following the announcer’s reaching-me-rhythms, over their own-speaking-system.
Eagles From Philly was the way they also said, In which she hailed straight from the adamant arms of Rocket Randall (two arduous arms who elate so gifted), guess you can say I was ready for the jumping-successions-the-shindigs, the best gaits, the fall down after straights, the best of the off the ground liftings.
Extracurricular, mental fitness, willing on a mission was I willing to follow the leaping-legacies-of-the-large-laborious-hardened-hovering-above-me-heated-athletes in one caring compilation’s show with her companions, the heirs of the previous generation’s winners.
No other person like me could’ve written bigger, She Flies/Bar-Pole/Cushion without the mat any quicker.
J’s jelling, sartorial sitting was the way in which Xanadu-College-Bound-Wade and Heat Fists Holy-Field-Wields also came on, on the screen, and they had 6 sparkling rougish eens. 3 past winters.
- Avalon Dakota
- 1/19/25
- 12:21pm
CWEEN J
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