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David Sewell

Typo on Your Beetle Map

Nor are your calisthenics spangled to a degree that I would consider
adopting them as my everything. I have refused each offer of
translucence the parts of you that can talk have blubbered past. Your
beetles I laughed over, a beetle falling out of my mouth, beetles
floating down a river of hippopotamuses. The mongrel lever puller said
something I couldn't understand. Meanwhile,
your hands were interpreting a song you claimed to be singing that was
just some dogs barking
at rats. I'd prefer a Nehru jacket to renting a compact sedan and
visiting a pancake and waffle establishment. I could punctuate a mule.
I wouldn't punctuate you.