Gray's mutation, it's a log hunt in parts of thy neighbor

I requested an aberdale but upon the arrival of a matter entirely obscured by crowds I divested in nomenclature of cladistic studies. A tree-for that matter, a gape or agape. Make your mark I say, it's the world of plenty. Plenty of goodness in a quest of digestion and digression.

Are we focused?
Are we in tune with our kelp matter?

It was Betsy's cloth that first appealed to me. My tongue licking, tastebuds abrasive but purposeful, I noticed a swink scarf in a heap of ashes. "What a dandy," I thought...then just as now but for relapse amid aged atmospheric pressure. It was that high low orange shanty with an amber glow. It was the fading luminescence of the number 3 that first appealed to my sensory deprivation. Upon landing, all shades of jaundice reminded me of mother but without touch I merely had eyes and noses. A plastic rim could call forth my memorable gaze aloft in its 'nature'; aloft in its chest. A cavity for the connoiseur.

Breathes of breathless gales
I recall fondly my Cantina glory.