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As I sit here arms extended

As I sit here arms extended, waiting for surgical treatise magic to wend its way, I smile a bit: for I’ve halted the pumice salt after listening to the house Zen master’s cautionary tale. It wasn’t really all that hard, at least so it seems in retrospect. The splinter groups laid on their old fashioned harem glasses in an attempt at another solstice exchange. But Dr. Bruce Rakusin intervened, garnering strings of minstrel pipe, slivered along the groundswell. Ribboned in place, he stared directly in front of me. We expressed confidence that a resolution of sorts would take place on Wednesday noon at Kaplan plaza, high atop the universal mini mart. I resumed my position, reassured to have a protracted masthead on the lather bar with lunar opalescence.