all see what I want sprinkles are and how they fall into glasses and cups and cups of spoons. As they are hard and rough and soft shall pass away in the crowd and in the heat and at the tip of the tongue. How they are distributed all over the floor and wood and paper, and the pants like snowflakes, only a few crystal form andor similar. I lick my index finger and push around on the wood and crunching is sweet hanging on my skin and crunching I crush it into powder and ignore the voices around me and the rates and debates and definitions and conflicts and dissolve in my tea and milk to nothing more crunches.
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