Thursday, December 22, 2011

THE DEVIL VISITED MY URN

I moonwalk the hangnail's longitude,
blue from the future. The controversial prophesy about my jersey.
Non-skid loaf: spliced ninja enough with its pheasant wingspan.
A guitar solo preamble to being shorn uniquely.
Your favorite pulley is transoceanic, together with a little picnic
hamper. Providing the wherewithal for fucking the
sea monster's ulcer. Ripples are the only difference between
ripping a witch's trellises and splotching a supermarket urn.

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