22/02/2013 - BLACKING OUT IN DARKNESS

Blacking out in darkness will not ensure the doll's eyes coming. Halfway points to the trudge and the whispery breeze package just keeps flowing. Hands in the dawn fold out the gorgonzola lightning rods like platitudes and talk of hospitality towards the flanked bush. Pounds and pounds and pounds of profundity shall eat and swallow and regurgitate the curious brow. Spit once. Spit again. Demand to see the manager and ask for his best check. The escape route involves a band wagon and its flea-ridden baskets. The blazes wear ill-fitting ties. How curious. The arrow points in a different direction entirely - fidelity, patience, long johns. Wheels roll but not with spikes riding the outer sheet. What if they wore their Sunday best? Who would notice? Pipes are wrinkling for the best intentions. Stories will be told in their favour but only if you would so kindly write them for us. We might pay you with thermometers, provided they are functioning correctly for our children's standards. It would be for the best possible outcome. Promise. Snow and teeth wrap around one another, provided there's a telegraph pole to witness the magical union. Wires are perverse and break skin for foolish reasons. They hate out dance moves and conspire to see them again in a blank future. Fire burns out as we wait for a single reason. Ambulance, come hither: let me spank you. Let 'em forth. Save and be punished, suffer to let suffer. Sweethearts. Let's play that again from the middle. Let us quiver there and eat rolled-up cigars. Tobacco dribbles. Such a lynch of caviar. Comb through and tell what you see or taste or detest. The destitute testament stands for the one-legged blinkers. How sappy is a sapphire to the drawbridge: bride of the nightingale, walker of living tissue, bum wipe of the soothsayer. Clusters for the dearest but not the beloved. Shoes doesn't fit these dainty big toes and their roving little tongues. Now we have the glass, the glasses and the timing. Judges rule that the foliage has a definite way with words and tends to use them to deafen large schools of fish. The bristled lightning rod trips asunder and lets out a howl. This is childish and deserving of an ice cream torture. Fantastic markings kiss quivering lines. It is poetic and denies me access to a woman's gratitude. How lively an act! Disreputable and full of cloudy days. Life has a hatchet for all these occasions and thanks you not to mention them in front of the grandparents. Their gristles bind dirty weeds and talk in dialects and gargle the consonants. Fiery direction and wistful production. The act lives and lives on in a winding number. This is the place where hedges disappear for their bowling matches. They pout their knives like serendipitous syndicates and expect us out. All you limpet lovelies now requisite all over again. Go to sleep and see them falter for the binding qualifications. They belong to the crackling paw.