as an anchor on the top of that mountain, with mad skills
covered in white snow water. Blinging edge of aspirin use.
Is there an idiot who gathers there, which for us was a pale
and kinky shower lotion? All the romance angels
lost their positions but big bird anger covers cool shit.
Leaks are food coma on your phone. Bivalence, thought as
state-dependent but implying long-term creep from
the conditional to your throat. Long term audience blowback
and your nether regions have blocked access to the poles.
Why vote in a voice like a shark, in a voice like a chicken
finger mistaken for a pistol in your back and do exactly as
why says and my says will clump. This sure smells like a bank.
I want to go out tonight but never in this mirror, is like a refrain.
The letters never written and the letters never sent, they form a chain
wrap that around your feet and flop off into the ocean of
the letters pondered double and forgotten and/or lost
the letters sent so error-filled you're not sure what you were saying
the letters where you were angry or hurt and you wish you hadn't meant it
the letters where you come clean
the letters creeping along in the shadows behind your name
the letters where you stir them around in chicken broth, and try harder.
A beat that basically invades your ass in a single thrust
colonizes, incites revolt and turns into a riot
in tight and tiny clothing beyond the parameters of the eye.
Naked is the new dressed, and the word "costume" dissolves
for lack of referent. Everybody was kung fu fighting
but like cartoon style, as if for toddlers, and yet suddenly
stupid huge pads are all the rage on the runway and the Dow
does a pretzel. Is there an idiot? Motor management.
There is something growing on my security questions. No,
never "fluffy." There is not enough psychosis to go round.
Everything is related and relationality is a total failure, yes, both.
Look Mom no clue. So is substance gonna strut in, like a pair
of nunchucks and get all subjecty here some place or ice cream sandwich
are we stuck waiting on the silent alarm? Please slake your
name, leave is stupified a snoozing up against a tree
or better yet a cactus and it in a sombrero in what is clearly a racial slur
on Mexicans somehow, but it's your name getting stuck.
Impute a subscription renewed for years to the tabloid of your choice,
stir. If I was in Roma, how would I do it? Bleeeeeeeeeeeeep
followed by laugh track. Pain meds, western civilization, sightless
creatures of the deep, three of these things are just like
the other and the other is quite disputatious and has a rider.
Life is stolen and squiggles the equals on fucking a dry hole.
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