Wednesday, March 23, 2011

THE YEAH YEAH NO VOLTE FACE

berserker of some kind of smooth, on godzilla botox
the impressive contentious arguable earthiness of whom, dying down in a dust devil of whimper
care beams sphincterous, through the Unholy Mall - bolt at the same time stored in warm embrace of wife kids randomly lobbied carbuncle
barn moonlight mooched, nerd Steven Seagal quickenings awakenings rather sad saddenings
back when This Death happened by dentist chair
hot pants taken the wrong way; then the right way
the equation had never really needed sugar
hurriedly taking a Fuckberry out of your pocket street cafe windows ring seconds long, in cooling aftershock
I struggled against the book blurb's omnipotence: the mindbend whisperings
inescapable habituators of the last crevice crack gulley corner crater pore of gray matter
suspiciously eyeballing X-rays and all Marvel's lost-in-space punctuations
we need Generation III weddings to urgently scale back toilet paper in X through Y Quadrants
so you've dynamited a whole om nom nom nom
ole Saturn, misfit, friend, SEO expert, carouser, sodomite, hallucinator -
Oreos-scaping kilometer upon kilometer under the blanket by torchlight
new broken little bits of cartoonish
bouquet of India that makes your malaria seem dynamic
and elsewhere barf was pencil lead

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