Wednesday, January 19, 2011


the moons and cirrus formations of other planets are good
their sunrise in its skiwear minus two bright, fraying snakebites
the base sincerity of their dorm rooms
our slutty Lacrosse upper crusts, on the other hand

down here superheroes pick from all the best bits of the woolly mammoth
but weeds cloud the sky with their caffeinated swing
street handcuffs are the genius of trash
very quickly, acceptance is growing for car service cults
I believe that when the shiver has died, you’ll know that yogurt is real

aim for the lid, people – if you’re afraid your pee stream might tattle on you
but the Vatican is closed on Thursdays
the heartfelt miniskirt leaves its blinker on past three off-ramps – a welcoming touch to geriatrics
after the nanotech snowflake has fallen from the dirty sky on the open vein in my neck, I am prepared to believe in and become a practitioner of immortality’s squeamishness
it has been approved of by the mentally ill soprano – singing about feeling the guitar blisters on prehensile entropy 

‘could a dose of inspiration perhaps be derived from this Nerf gun, General Sir?’
‘Private! – bitter tragedy confronted with folded arms leads to further, unimaginable trouble!’
now raising a truncheon and beating itself to death, the neediest calorie in the nun’s bottom perishes realizing that to be too often prostituted is not an option
occasionally go out for a walk, under the weird sky’s moons 

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