#110

I am grim today in afternoon. In megrims for the nonce. There is sun, and there is breeze, and my privilege scarpers with the hours. Laches. Leaches. The Schuylkill along Kelly Drive. Approximately water. And the patchwork of towells, consensus of toffs, shirtless grammar on the green. I am chastised in my withdrawal. A coy and haughty hugger-mugger.

Without a prick, what have you? Immured. The lax from moved to moued. Thin and gaum and strung in galluses. A breviary. Erogatory. What is a lithe and wind-tanned body for? The hook of urban elbows, dowdy corners strewn with credit. Philthy, Sean has named it. And where then is Philiapolis?