beta: slick sentences
inspired by lines from an Arthur Sze poem ("Looking up from a tusk under the lamp, the carver smiled, 'It's butter in my hands.'")
Without a thesis, papers fall to pieces.
Not my cup but my kettle runneth over.
On the north hill, vineyard roots grow where a warren once was.
I asked my dad what he thought about aliens: “That’s not a question for prison.”
You can chalk up hopscotch as lost to history.
This was pretty much just a trial post. Check out part one of the ROADTRIPPING series here, where Alberta shows us his sketchy van.
Read more about what I’m doing with Revamp here.
-Annabelle
