Adjust

something we said so many times before a crack in the door a bit of a poet in all of us red dust sunset can’t catch little bits o’memories tickles under the tongue a go-out and get you-one. . . of those strip the rags off the rappers and sell them off for clothes make math, in the mathematicians’ presuppose fire sell it off to celeritas one more big blink in the big goggles golden fish missing in the adjustment of pince-nez had to turn out that way when all we did was adjust