Fuller Brush salesmen, wanting to take a piece of the cake, not frosting on this cake for them, so-called missionaries who are not on our same mission, a blah blah organization with an open purse for you to fill it, telling you that you need them, but our languages are not the same, forked tongues with which they speak, your mouthful is full of Mother's milk and there is no room for you in your fried Chinese rice for locusts to eat with or without a fork, spoon or chopsticks.
A spoonful of love from the rain outside as you extend your tongue out of your mouth to catch a cool raindrop, a real raindrop made of real water, no chlorine, no bleach, no detergent, not to say it is water when instead it is wine.
Open purses like mouths forcing make-believe stories for you to memorize, can you curl your tongue, can you swallow?
Time for a bedtime story? Only if the ending is "...and we all lived happily ever after. Amen."
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