greenish ochre grokthwart
chagrin thirls the whirlpool
in the snowblind blunder
a blue heron tarries
count fingers old fogey
affirm inner ermine
odor of shorn shade-wings
a ship sailing tipsy
let your freak flag locksmith
align with clogged mineshafts
so chant cheapskate skittles
chalice of crisp whiplash
"When our eyes move from one thing to another, our brains erase the momentary blur in between by replacing it with a prolonged image of whatever we come to look at. That’s why a ticking clock might briefly appear not to move when looking at it—an illusion called CHRONOSTASIS." --@HaggardHawks
"You’re prying open the lid of the slap-crate."
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