To turn back eyesight.

Today I wish I could unsee.

Streetside Montgomery, she poured out from all three punctures, purging. Feet away, I twisted my head.

Handedness

Electric, overwhelming, two souls stuck in an elevator going down, nervously probing minds looking for the two points that prove circles cross. Right-sided minds cloaked in left choked your hand to write dexterously, but left you a secret sinister. I am sinister, choked musically dexterous. "How did they translate the clockwork slang?" Up again, three floors rising, nothing like a lift to force privacy.

Two heads notice their subtlety, they hash....

Two heads notice their subtlety, they hash out hazy rhythms and hope for epiphany. Eyes rolling, heads nodding, nodes throbbing. click. It bursts with vitality.

Eleven heads run for the prize sideless, put it in a box, box it. Tribal dances for the fitness king.

Three heads strut for femininity, they ask for directions. I have none, and sarcasm shocks their black coats that mean to widen shoulders, but only slouch postures.

Stories only serve to hide this irish temper.