17/03/2013 - STARING AT COAT TAILS

Staring at coat tails. Gliding through rhubarb curtains and their like-minded shards. Teaching dirty whelps to drink to upcoming night terrors of yesteryear. Blinding the binding and branding Brandon. Switching capes with fleshy bits. Finding pretension in spectacles. Shouting with a withering sundown. Throwing red lips into a scathing line-up. Watching previously. Swimming. Squatting. Gobbling graphite in sweetie packets. Rustling till the cows stampede. Rectifying bearded patients. Crucifying their humorous stretchers. Playing one arse against its half-brother. Playing again. Burning opinionated ping-pong racism. Brushing a storm with a winking comb. Routing through the harbingers like so much stuff. Rubbing out. Clambering out of moon landing statistics. Wearing out meatball balsa. Acting sincerely with lightning rods. Piping out the roughhouse. Dripping ties like weeping polka dots. Answering the minutes in Sunday best. Cruising the rift when the eyebrows have protruded. Plucking gold from wholesale complaints. Anchoring pressure cookers. Standing a fallen giant. Trucking rumpus fortunes. Bruising our masks or muskets. Blinking for nightingales. Catching squirrels. Implying a tear of septic larvae. Nosing kiddies under thundering name tags. Pick pocketing  red hair. Pounding. Floundering. Quizzing the barrier with sniffles and careful handling. Broadening yellowed teeth from the facial hair down. Rebuilding physiognomy for overlong, overwrought periods. Hurtling and careening. Swallowing radiation with whores.  Tramping about with our acts together. Changing all the thyme.  Trundling lightly. Freezing quests. Preening the spasmodic medicine cabinet. Appropriating empty knuckles. Styling rain drops when rectal cavities should be whimpering. Respecting ten babies. Breathing commerce. Glazing the stairwell without gloves. Re-enacting the ensuing silence. Wishing for kidneys and blunts. Blunting bollocks forever. Closing the frantic lover under duress. Fooling. Piloting v-neck jumpers. Failing while hunching. Grumbling, humbling, raping the dawn. Tread over here with a glad diamond from Neil. Concocting with Erasmus. Seeding the sleeveless salty deceit. Noting the swaying of orgasmic fatwa.  Twisting new birthday knots. Slaying the tightest gauntlet until one leaves behind a seat. Rushing the jousting with Hanukkah lights or flames, to be particular. Corking then uncorking a shallow pretender with little more than rusting rasps from a naked bee.  Hardening the gardening while tools get lost at football stadiums. Coasting playtime for vocal disasters. Glowing, growing, glowing. Growling with baseball caps. Strangling strangers, angling free. Frolicking  everywhere. Spiking after spanking. Ending sentences with inane frankness. Propelling toads out of sensational sketches. Poring over and out ahead of lonely perceptions. Kiting heartbreak. Pining now. Threatening stars. Croaking circus romance, cloaked with cartoony figments. Hearkening masturbating angels. Crinkling rockets. Billing. Billing. Billing lawn logs. Egging the coconut whispering. Aborting flecks of paper weights and fisting confetti cocktails. Birthing all spatulas and reimbursing the obligatory wheels. Starting rolling evolutions and quad sex with only tissues and rye. Saturating satyrs with burdensome layaways. Culling the septuplets for the sake of king and country while they are off on holiday together doing goodness knows what with the crown. Stapling the vessel to an aching sandcastle and listening to the breaking point. Cracking the solution like you always said you would.