Thursday 1 May 2014

01/05/2014 - DON'T BE SO GOOD

Don’t be so good, this year from that place beyond the pail that cannot be fetched because it simply refuses to be fetched. It will just go and do all kinds of mind-breaking numb downs that will loosen up the cognitive booms and we all know what that means
an eleven rank
a hermit spank
hands that fit inside
interviews with Danny McBride
patter cake
platter cake
baker’s man
barker’s man
the source of all umpteenth
molars on the front teeth
half the pop
stop a stop
roar
ROAR
Grid iron
Physical Psion
Abandonment
I’m so so absorbent
I’m coming down
I’m combing dun with a fever
Oestrogen

This is the word and the hearing is the entire courtroom procedure because that’s about as much as anyone would care to listen to without the aid of a box of hogs or miniature ladies and gentleman to applaud wherever the sea goes in its avid pursuit of its off-the-hook father, a coffee barista. Your Italian is atrocious and that makes me an expert in all your other failings because twice is a fuck and I fuck with you twice and with duality too. Concede as you will and I shall shudder and send a skull to the capital of my toilet bowl. I send all my rubbish down that way, trash goes into the open-ended remarks of passing papal representatives. Of course I wouldn’t think this if I weren’t a chill arm at a long game of Chuckle out West. You’d do well and you would do well to do as much as you can be in a cave with neon and space heaters to establish the decade.

Come here a second, you, you’re the one who broke the memory into your arse on live television, I’m telling you its glorious as defensive interpretation but you’re being hypnotised by a paedophile because its safer than becoming Pocahontas. My titters are even expecting no groups to form around; this way, man in blue shadow. Now this is the point where
All twelve of my lovers
And I mean all twelve
Shall be given forth into the ocean,
She looks like a waggled autograph on a baker’s dozen with eggs as a totally applicable side order. Now the winter comes, the ticking along gets harder and more difficult and significantly less easy. This ain't no Sunday picnic, it's
Remember November?
How it isn't a flame.
A succulent ember,
a signified aim.
The piece
the Piece
THE PIECE
the piece
The Police want to talk about judgemental prissiness
they want to go into rehab for formalising
they want their naked messiness
a subject to unsearched normalising.
You're a cue,
a queue to plant drugs in,
a cure lacking
foundation
paying no heed
to the clue
the struggling in
halved verdicts
calved edicts
felony possession
DELIVER




It appears that we have a wholly different matter to attend to on the back of this buttered boat. The sails aren't quite meeting in the middle so we'll need to do something about that/

No comments:

Post a Comment