Saturday, October 1, 2016

Some clear fall morning...(a run-on sentence)

Some clear fall morning, first of October, I hear an airplane puttering like an aeroplane, like a first Ford model car, fragile as any newborn machine, and I can believe for a second nothing's ever happened, not even me, or my mother; it's 1954, the year before my mother was born, and no one would even begin to think of a jet slipping silent and red and burning like a sleek needle into the window of a tall, tall building and then another into it's twin, those two gray arms, but this morning the rickety little sky-car didn't even leave a scar of chemical clouds - you might even believe they hadn't invented wings for men to drive yet, if you were sitting here like this with the sky so blue and you hadn't heard the engine.


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