There she is in the silent moment, three o’clock and giving
it her all to climb a humble oak tree.
Some might say that she’s right there but we could just take
her down in that case with a bow and arrow which we obviously can’t and shouldn’t.
Therefore
Let’s wait her out and feed off of her psychological
pathology, scrambled as it is with a side of lemongrass ham and splayed out by
the mischief of men she was taught by; their tears and whimpers in cloak rooms.
Strictly
It’s all training and deserving of sponsorship, orange as
burnt acres and the boys that dare to cross them in their coal shoes and matey
bruising.
Getting good has never been so place-holding: form the words
that tongue can’t tell from adventures in the woods with animatronic bears and their
sheet-wearing cousins that load up with cardigan bullets and white compressed
microphones.
Just say thank you and you’ll never want for long grammar
again, the woods will shut up their berries in Glaswegian ministries for the novelists
to drink up and kill for their honeybee masters.
Searing pain and extreme cases of hallucination on a busy
bus journey to an undetermined destination
Cut it down for her and her army of healthy shout outs to
blameless individuals in their sleepy waking and hive mind screaming. Grab your
camouflage jackets and let the levee pale in significance for once rather than
theatrical echo effect without all the crude drawings of children’s book
illustrators and their crummy runners on their clammy catwalks. Bravo can blue
up the cabins, graduate the occupants to a new now level of eel elevator so
that fresh power sources can be speculated on with all the gift horse economics
if an inaudible shutterbug. Don’t say something while nothing is on the table,
all that the people really want to hear now is they’re haircuts resemble
Poseidon and all his hoary restaurant chains.
Gifted
Get your fingers out with a little black dear chewing on her
own tincture for fear that the Lycos
Times out and thanks will call the leaves into boycotting
down
The river with the rest of the scallop. If only the easy
would smile in their composition
And then we can shake them off with hold-ups and heists. You
try. You replicate. You supper.
We sup.
Supple Armouries.
I’ll stay guarded as long as she remains unscathed by
reburied goodies
Come and kiss this pain away with unkind truthism and let’s
see how the Italian sopranos will interpret with their warbling penchants for
unwavering retching of spiritual debate. The right honourable leading lady
would like to raise the gate but she hasn’t read enough Russian literature so
there’s been argument in the pretty rain because walking out of the door will
only lead to thousands crying Uncle, Uncle, Umbilical Comeback! Wire-walking,
we’re all just living without her on a teetering spot.
24 hours later: Simple handles bereft of commentated
eyebrows
48 HOURS LATER: RIGHT IN THE ADDICTIVE FACE
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