sploosh, the salient, and consequential arc Don't you know that we're Dancing Dancing through the Flame of our beards, Apostrophy, Parenthesis (in that old order), Mrs. Jamwell June of Sunny Market Place, Deeply Hopless Records I remember when the farm and all of the small math kept making it a bigger and more complicated place for everybody in it. No one ever, it's making us more hungry too. The farm's poaching the little prime numbers from the bottom and the chalk starts to disappearing and the will to use it evaporates. It's the worst time ever for empty hands like mine, pressed into service like a couple warm pennies. Reaching out only makes the others flinch, they're not mentalists or soft smelling teachers either. The calculator room is mostly empty now. It's long tables are buried under paper cups and rodents that race among their legs on the warmer nights. But I keep my time up still. My pockets are full of butterflies and nicely snipped en