Clawing our way back
out of the pit that is Sunday on the brig. It’s like an overhanging dress with
a low-hanging hem, delicious to some but repugnant to others. Now I am a simple
man with horrendous tastes and an indefatigable tendency to negate them with
fine furnishings but even I know that this outcome of yours is stupid. Home is
for hope is for the new only and never go changing that or else. Timber is
cumbersome to the eleven Sons of Goldfish Erikson. Splatter and scatter and
reimburse the well-wishers for their key faucets. Leave behind our speccy
babies or drown their dummies in a heavy laden lake. It’s a home for pestilence
and rectangular excuses, not a nice play to spend your Thursday parties. Coats
and eye patches make one an evil collared gentleman. Whistles are through the
blinds and down the stairs and glaring through a veil before the governor’s
ventilation system. Warn me like Errol Flynn or just drop me in Detroit.
Batteries oh batteries, how the batteries crush the spirit. Play off against
the prostitute’s beaten hairdryer. Never
mind, never mind, nevertheless the decking continues with its frisking duties
or some such thingy.
Separate the bag from
the handle and split the lip with sensible deviations and various other
monstrosities. How the lines converge and reduce the spit ball to wasted ammo.
Our lips move with the times and trundle down ladders with trumpeting whirls.
Poisonous sheepskin rattles the flickering hair, golden like the backside of a
truant officer in season. Hunt the broad strokes with a hammer or restrain the
lofty elevator. Turning away from nibbles or quartz defiance if you’d prefer to
be sent to the chins for punishment. Hang nails go off like gorillas in the
rocky terrains of consideration.
Infect the stubble or
speak judiciously like our obtuse cousin from Southampton. Merging the
handcuffs into sideburns will only result in the numeracy of pill-popping. You
knew like a liar in the heat of a desk lamp, how heady is the sound of the
skies colliding with collusion. Exit the barrels and shake out the dust bunnies
with a flick of your underwear. She’s trouble; oh she’s troublesome in crazy
shit like screwed-up vernacular. Cowboys will attend and mistrust the easy-bake
ovens that clutter the pathway to longtimecoming. It was the right moment that
the patterns explored the extent of their nature. Fear is a potent liquorice
and weaves a wholesome fruition out of lice and detritus. Behind the trucks,
the zombies lie and mark their territory with ambling teeth on reckless
coffins. Bleed out for the sake of a nation. Become burly! Oh no, not the
insidious September! Protect me from the period that bespeaks all pitfalls. You
are a chump; I am something quieter and drunk in the daylight. The dynamite has
a collar but only on prom night, scouting for apple orchards leading to sleeves
and raised brows. Hats, caps and tree branches, knit like chummy headstones.
No comments:
Post a Comment