Diner PinersUnkempt gents minding their ownand the scraggly hags that avoid them;wallsmore see-through than windows they occupyare these newspapered ghosts with addendums.Wiley beards and crooked brassieresare met with smirking resolveas origami halos from non-absorb napkinsform a moot youth that dissolves.A perfect coffeestains the yapthey'll never live long enough to brightenwhile personification's memorypays towards the tab;a slow-moving bullet much like them.Those Rabis & Witchesdress their last daysin mothy green tweeds and cat hairin hopes of hands-free spiritual exchangeas much as they both hate to be there.
Crumbling Conversations"It is something to know ~ that a penis in tow, and an arm are very, very different...neither is the measure of a master creatora long waving stave of divinity.",the matriarch said, baring a strangle hold on the wrangled mouldas she spoke to the Tiny Hiney Man.Clearly a 'Ms. Under'... standing heeled and balanced in the cracksHiney Man looked onas mustaches were hard to come by, and not every noble nose could afford one."And where there are pussies, there's milk, I assurethe kind that kittens with mittens adore...", the matriarch finally felt fit to admitas the crowd failed to roar and the bulb never lit.
Air Conditional It was one of those sultry summer sufferingssalt on the skinsulfur in the windand every uncased candle sagged leaning to see how the butter on the counter was making out.At a thousand degreesSatYourRated Fatwhile our comparative waxes boiledYour hopping flyto my sticky eyewhere all of a suddenyellow is a bad color for a kitchenSweaty couplesin ignitable puddleswere boats without ruddersThe Blue Abyss missed us ANY match would be lethal in this weather
Shunted RadianceUnsung Fun - (adj.); Unapproachable Sunbakes hard all things so floppy~free, those soppable sides of suppliment-succulent earthYet itself, so Astral...PROJECTING (?!) no, it was a question ssss-sssshhh! Light electing heat; delighted heights towards vexed defeatsNight does becomes you -that black and blue fallas You call all knowings into play (v); which slow the snowbut still they show there IS a HellThe Burning Ball of brazen gallrelentlessrepentlessThe Yearning Bawl (n/v); disassociates.
Crown of Golden BrownIt was a cupped and caked coincidencehow she could captivate a heated room with her overflow;her crisp lips' brimming capacity.The last words to cross them,a batter of over-whipped thoughtsthat would tastelessly toughen if ever exposed to air -but she'd spill ill measurements anywayinto silver hollowssprayed with protection and flavor.A greased burn, floating in flute juice,was the crumb in pink underpants..
Moral Maps Street View Marla Immaculata______________________________From washed driver's handsthat are kept where a Dispatcher can hear them...dirty deedsand the resurrecting graceof disgraceful thingswe just acceptas they are held under a soulful light.Because lucrative loins are an in-extractable force of natureand despite ourselvesBEING ourselveswe are all hoping to aid ourdisheveled fellow manour bulging feathered glandsour useless wivesour sexless lives...to helpmore than we hinder."NO YOU'RE NOT!"-says a Seasoned Public Servant from a blind alley"We meant well..."-says a Politicial Campaign Manager waving an OB ki
Angel-SpeakIt isn't rightthrowing a child in the riverwithout their coatand without their keeperwithout artistic meritin your last words to either of them.It isn't right that you would cover their facesso... tightly.It isn't rightthat you waited til nightwhen Sturgeons would benearest to this treatwhile the moon is huge and you without a cameraor your wine.It isn't rightthat you do any of this ~even cleaning your nailsor nursing your fistespecially when you'll get no credit for it..
Touch DownPositive Pisserpopped in the kisserAdhere to your Seatsand back to the showRing Leader SeederInhaled Frontal FreezersLemon Grass Gas...a wink and we go!The Torch I hold ClicksThe Bombs I build TickOld fashioned, I knowbut it WorksWhirl-a-Bird circlesShell-Shaking TurtlesPieces fall randomIn dirt.
Don't say Hunter S. Thompson again unless I'm wearing protective undergarments.
I FUQUING LOVED THAT GUY!!!
I'm glad I amaze.
It means there's something going on beyond my head.
Thank you.
but the same taste, nonetheless.