Title: The Wilmington Men
Author: Adam Moore (LÆMEUR) <adam@laemeur.com>
Date: February 2, 2007
Revisited: May 20, 2008

The Wilmington Men, by LÆMEUR

The Wilmington Men

My name is Barnswallow Haversham. I killed not only farming will, but also Turks in tram-line base. The winter before this, my Wilmington men were all but flagged in basing, but unlike the chrome python craws, all bruised toric manifests were tented in blushes blue.

Trained in the Scots' dens of framing, the Wilmington men tried bludgeoningly for interest at crassened basks, and long before any crashes filled stamming, all had foil-wept prushing before the bruised-wheel fledges of Arkhamshire. Neverminding all sweeping ill, they transit-locked the coming-on brackenburn and poured into basing all bases built in frowns. Locks, as such, grave welcoming — the endings pouch bellonde — but true in dashéd filling stands, all men mire in peacock, and all men moulder in base fretire, relenquishing their tadze.

Past pretense in Ambrose basings will (before they're tired) train-in terrestriation seams, a site of bundrian glue-cast knotting. Torn of pendric sheets, all those patriarchs of Mittendam betray before the craw not alls behind engraver ends. And THIS telling of trasting bay (not false moor bedding and catch-all cast benech) lives humbly — hastened pots pour past grammaticals.

So, we walked on salt. The plaque sistered boor flat likened horse carriages in heart. Parched everywhen but afore, slacked rostrum cows dug mills. We trenched in mitters, waiting for pelts to satter, and simmering bollards true-mean basted all beyond us. But nothing meted portage in regards all eelskins' satin; atop we pied, belayed, and proffered, and ends beheld not riffing bests, all dimension racking skids. The track gripped cashing. The trap tripped stone.

Born before elk-hind, teaser bends bow fritzing, and curbing such burst lore, the Wilmingtons tore hag-ripped fruiting from alchemic binds. Bronze men articulate cast feigns, but Wilms tooth betrayers, and bastilry req's none-too-happy charge spent poured-up nefting on spattercocks. Long as ever is such so, and ounce-weight poppies dash it nil. They stagger-batted sooth aligns, and more, baffled forting chutes, which drew out temple cordage hangers, spittle-toothed and tonic. Resonance plexed, chamber foots corked, and crashing fatterns bore-out gem. The foal had plumped so waxily, some stored blue mander swag, but shortly ruptured puddlerubble bass frames and flopped. Ton-true padderwhack peas fought suit. Casing rims flammed.

Slew-limit crooked pouch through fastening gunwales moaned. Saving sight, bereaving jimmers cashing jewel-aides wept and seething gutmen groaned as fleshing statics piffed their bootings; all along the shackelry, stern-witted foremen spun. But arching over knees was Saturn, and hemmed-out sag-men stuttered aware. Gealing, they rallied and sprung vast kneel-trim holding drafts on silt shims and slit runners. Hammering through vessel reeds, gel-gore dust patterns backlaid the font punches, and the Wilmies faced in. In fatter basins, elk might winter sallow, but there, the sim-tight belching spoons were graft-geared for shingling, and cracker-gnashing footswain chills bore invert-outhories like Spanswals' field arrays.

All chatter broke, and ill-tuned achronal zips roared fastly past the bear. Upside-cross the hump, Wilmo ambleswatted chaw, and friendly taste chain snickers swamped the cog-rot chuckle boot. Puffs of seeming tutors chinned their ankle-rickies' flight-box, signaling the chew stump sputter-nut of porch wheat pastor twang. Saving this, sandstorm fight was nothing now, and shamble tree pecuniaries would, in spirit, swell.

The broom folded, tiger-like, and napping inlets bred. For all that, we were scant a-kinted puddle step, like Farrone. And while the setting citrus pounces needle-tips in suede, the anarchatronic minter speaks a shovel-grip in froth.

I carry shore tie knitting like December now, and that is fine. The swordmen angle cakes at boring, and trunkmen shift perfume. This littlebuys force winding...

...but muchly stoops in fain.

—B.H.
724

—L.
85K

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