Oh My Objects

Oh my objects, how you agent me, creasing my tangents with aspiration
Labile time of whimsy and urge brings you each around, circulation bounce
Tap water eye color votes a queer ticket, has a purple left pocket calls bingo 
Periwinkle leather holster for gloc, lifeboats drop as soggy rocks on Berlin
Shock of the new therapy so good for economy upturn slim size unknown fat
Idiocrat place settings for dour, wipe that smirk off your smug, shut up the fug
Plant a bag where the moon doesn't rise, hook up like a trailer and blow doors
Friction is the plant-based alternative to having the gift for swing, Hoopla squared
Systematic irregularity is designer flourish while core functioning is a 1000%
Tooth and claw, everything the index missed, pole axis, shimmy options, "yold"
Fat lot-abrasive, call me some week that broke, sand down solid brace, drop
Silly objects getting off is not your lot, phat, fat or otherwise like butter. Harp
 Plays on. Oh my objects, this is such a disaster, let's keep it rolling as I am dying
Day after day more dead but for you, each a point of rot in a vista like ripe fruit
Going forward. Savor the pit, pits the angst once it gets bounce, against 
 Pop music and limps out with the echo of the sniffs. How the fuck do you
Roll your I's? Maybe this is not my language, my mother had no tongue.
Thingy oh thingy, the lines like marmalade and that harmonizer vocal that was so
Everywhere a year or so ago. Forget the tragedy, file the trauma, only hunt you -
 My objects, amongst the lines provided by merger with my demographic
Check the box that says no to other offers, get spammed anyway by desire

Oh my objects, forgiven for your flat screens, owning my narrow window
Though it's surely bigger than some shades that could be looked through
I balls, each and one of us, to the tee and whack like Benjy, not the dog
Outside still though and maintained, Oh loss the bullet line trap ease for
Transit antiauthoritarianism to offer punch card for specials metro Atlanta
Rejoice and stall the danging to be done when it's too late, the asp is sweet
 Tempered like a scaly harpsichord at a Godzilla matinee, last one's eggs rot
Could never object to you. Empty isn't your fault, you wake the dream but it
The dream, is not your doing. The arch is broken for once and for all like a tongue
Torn out. There is a crowd and a large red ribbon and pair of scissors 4 ft long
Thoughtless clouds are the only clouds even now that the sky spells Coca Cola
Like chasing irregularities is going to help anything when chasing is what there is
Oh my objects, my little glitter bombs, the end is fast approaching with mag wheels
What would the proper glove be like to catch any one of you? Yes, I am kissing
 Judas. Nail polish remover and vinegar to take out a blood stain
From where someone saw the buddha on the road and the stain
Is a block long. Contingency is a simple trust, dumb and fickle
There were shelves everywhere I hoped to cherish on and wipe
On screens you shimmer like the starving water of the desert cart
Mine and mine and mine you mold and morph and mock you up
Territory is conjecture without piss. Summer gunking up around us

Oh my objects, each with doowhammy thingadoids and whizzle knobs and pop
Lastly is as willfully wasn't, nobobody knew that - thunk it up, one says, it
Thicket report reads thorn, mood is washed out gauche with a hollow hauled out
Splish in stylized letters sideline next panel, hop sing so endear to joy of la la land
Do spy you spy Eigen values, lace-up sky around here and sweat falls are rain
Nice to not being fool nature for it, backlash of ground animality digging whatnot
Way passed I'm sorry stratagems, nightmare remix, the end of that dream love
Informs every bare slice of felt life since, trust is scarce suspicions of commodity
 Me registered trademarked plus the back-to-slave movements' basic mode, branded
Busted buccal borders bleed like the very discrete excrete discreetly, cuckoo pop
Objects always too hungry for dinner at 8. The rest of writhing, seething awaits.
Hopeless foot, question on Invalidenstraße but time is left with chirps and bloops
Empty soldier, ideological hardliner of nostalgic recourse: Die
Leave the circulation to pray to jugglers' jugulars and keep balls in err
On the side of alive, again. Chicken shit bets. Pretense. Nothingness
Rhymes with as if. The archaism of the phrase to drop a dime on, whispers
Of an ax handle and it wouldn't be the first time. Oh my objects, you knew
 My heart was like a group of libidinous college students, heading off
Out of cell range, to a cabin in the woods. But objects ran along in front.
I see you like dimples, like eyes, like what makes that glow when some box opens

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