The rib cage being all you can see, I am stabilising as fast
as I can. Fortitude is my catalyst, greenery my staple. The writhing cables are
setting the mood and being transparent overall. Run by me and you’ll find no
heat signature, rush along without a coat or a care. Sterilising is like my
diet these days, weightless and filled with coffee-shaped Romans. So many nude
triumphs, it’s like static responsibility and a low-cut top spinning out of
your bold hands. The spectacles drop off and wear tripod delights on surly
afternoons as I gather your jewellery from the top floor of the basement. It’s
my experiment involving lunch deals and toilet breaks and the good old US of A.
It’s not over long nor is it a turning chair that describes quantum
probability. The pole is bleeding all over my product placement. It’s fun. It’s
rebellion.
Recruits
come from all over and demand my ties and stethoscope games. Talk about my
perversions and watch the wrongness drape over my forgotten shoulder pads. The
subject is with the doctor, a protein that won’t glow without minute rings.
Something is not right about the entire scenario but then the stats are jumping
unnecessarily without healthy teeth. Carts and horses go to the simpleton and
get kicked before the signals return with their septic branches. Don’t you die
on me or I’ll go into shock without so much as a by your leave. Jesus, am I?
Surely it didn’t work this month of my career. He doesn’t seem to know; he just
uses the whisk and pours it all over himself. It makes me sick of triumph.
The
fingers require the latex more than I do, more than I am willing to take. I’m
only hearkening to a premium ideal of cohesion that A and B and C. I’m a
turbulent primate when it comes to such matters; I throw up all over the
marksman. Fuck the days with vicious needles and empty eyelids or simply choose
the naughty magazine watching business. I have headphones, I have a perturbed
sense of humour that thanks the rope pulley for its dedication to a zip line. I’ll
be back in a couple of hours, don’t make promises you can’t see are letting you
down. The boarded-up windows are of a fleshy consistency that scream and eat
bacon. Constant vigilance and swinging by the lab is a best effort by any
monkey’s standards. No keys are books nor glasses or grindstones. It’s like
shit that doesn’t wash away and don’t even think about it.
Who
is going to know without the mirror before us? Who will watch the skin crawl
and weep ahead of time? How now? Since when? Straw colours in her hair. She may
have been a patient and she may have worn gold out of season. Heavy menacing is
like Quattro embalming: it spins the soul like a neck muscle in the spring era.
It wishes me to kiss down the zebra and away.
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