Our burning viaducts and
screaming children wrapped in hollow horns. Blasphemy is the sunshine on its
way out of the crumbled hallway: it determines the state of the graft. The
tiara turned doctor scrub green so I could drape the ties across the stern of the
lonely boat. My pockets are. My pockets just are. My pockets will be. My
pockets poke eye holes in the youthful countenance of the sickly. That is why I
choose to share the truth as opposed to close it in the cupboard. The crispness
dwarfs the tundra which is a blessing in its birthday suit.
Portly Tamara is overcoming her
night shock and thankfully my quilt hasn't met with her rug just yet. Priests
and yeasts and banality will share in the disaster as I sit back against the
curdled wedding dress. The fringe curls and the curls twist in blind dust. Why
did the jurisdiction slam the cad? Nobody can tell because of the unholy
mouthpiece. I scan the posters but maybe the barometer was lying. The viaducts
are now red but still a little black round the edges.
Cleavage crafts the Eastern
values and blows out of a candy trumpet. I have a leather jacket for you so
snatch it before the children come running. The obligatory cuticles can be
found in the fridge but they may not present formally. It's like Zilch and the
Wooden Goose all over again: take it or leave it, clear out the warehouse one
piece at a time. We lost our bar stools that day in the Great Neglected War of
Pushing Daises. Profound prevalence in a shiny battleship.
Villas to villas to town to
towns. Be sure to keep your respectful distances and smile when cured by the
auto tune. Fruitful snappers and dreadful milksops: that is the quantity. The cocktails
falter and spill over reams like darting fireflies. Limping is the one and only
powerful stance available to the blind in this line of work. We all know where
the coat hangers lurk: in the fretful threadbare corner of your conservatory.
Don't go in there for another month. Be respectable.
Erasmus is proud and has no
right to be so, the sickening whelp. He ran a tailgate off the road and ground
a pygmy into the paving stones. Nothing viler! Nothing viler! Rotten, rotund evil!
Erasmus is a crabby traitor who deserves nothing less than an aneurysm. I'll
see to it that conditions become hostile enough to trigger the damaging effect.
Quantum forgetfulness shall be his earthly penance whilst I continue to
struggle up the ladder. I'm going to reach the colours of home and then I'm
going to break it all off. I will tumble and sing and swarm upon the last
chicken before making my final descent. It shall be a glory unto others and I
will not be overzealous anymore. You will exist in my plains by the time I am
through, you will thank me for the last time. Ergo.
No comments:
Post a Comment