Wednesday, February 4, 2009

officially on the firm

Peeler died on Sunday. Somehow, crowds the produce. Meanwhile, he was the constantly and shirts — the man related, said suit Clover. You’ve got no

about carrots, friends he made, just one like me who dances seventy-three pounds a year. Not before you buy, prod wad “machine”, The voice—a mathematician, a part kind of delight. For pitchman who no one believes, on Sunday in a year, or carrots, his fourth. And he told me was not his only, the facts, followed Ms. Peeler could tell where he’d been. Followed item to the United States. More than anything, potatoes.

As I worked through the skin of the less woody-textured edible taproot, I was reminded why I often shove aside the three other, fancier peelers.

pushy farmers weren’t convers/ prod weren’t pret
I used it just yesterday on potatoes
Julia on the cover and me in the middle- constant
wad of hands, his money-face, meanwhile,

I would also like to buy some, but can't get to New York! We will invite a peeler and carrots, to peel a temporary vegetable, so fish to confuse your gentle asparagus.
Your peeler, meta into beta, Swiss seeing in the dark.

3 comments:

Teresa Carmody said...

how appealing

(couldn't resist)

Amina said...

I like this writing, this picture. I read it, and then I read it again.

rhamilton said...

i did those things also and then i sat in the dark