"Studio Time off the Drawing Room" by Evan Thomas

A dreamt Arabesque from mint sky enlarged the days then, miles voted for in hummer seats. Japanese beetles slowing as they knock the bağlama strings to heated entries. Boreas rounded corners to paper windows of constituents with handclap propaganda. & whereas the footage of jumpers depicted strains of smaller infomercials, the figures themselves fell into great lakes drafted in chromoluminarism with little aftercolour; the faintness belying appearances of diminution. The suite reforested quite nicely. Several marvels erected from wallpaper gave voice to sleigh bells, the windmill hilts damp with corrective action. Noting their silence, the swollen vine of Altoona disrepair coiled all holidays into eluents that got lost in the shuffle of civets dead letter office-adjacent. Emergency wildflowers hatted the treasure maps mezzotinted & rebound the frayed shoreline with fresh cedar. Waterskiers en route to the launching point were soon bewildered by the applause drops of sandpipers, left naught but the terraformed party analytes had already evacuated. Battleships off the tubes of razor clams packaged gouache in unanswered doors. Minor spatterdock orbits ferried bus tours from Augusta to eyelash. &, most significantly, the trumpet's disappearance heralded only the cartwheels of gesso that water unions pasted to the undersides of Pyrex universes. The hand that drew itself reached out to shield itself from the sun & the gladiolus erupted in princely chimes, sugar-water trim, summer themes stated, & the laser-hour of locked grooves unjamming the quiet chives from their mown tug-of-war. It was completely noon in the increasingly french air for at least two months.