##Another (b)rave attempt to the uncharted waters of the Utter Poetry.

I started at the kitchen sink. There was no enough room beneath the table mat. The door was cranky and the floor slippery. I chose to rub the soap deep into my skin.

The velvet was the taste of the mud, agonies pilfered. Mind was colloquial, the eclectic nerd suturing cranium. I fell down the slippery slope to the modest bandwagon. No more cries, for the cold was fighting AIDS.

The war was more prominent than the brawl. Duel with the stencils up, processors down. Nobody rocked, but everyone stoned. She died on the cross, for the car never braked.

Armpits hurt when the pit stops roar. The wheel base was baser than the high pitch. The wounds never healed for the sins never pardoned. She died on the cross, for the car never braked.