Thursday, July 26, 2012

WHITEOUT


Unlike most people, I actually like our local grocery store's
association with offal. Couldn't get the plague mobile
so my feet cured themselves on rakes. I also like
Bed and Breakfasts. I'll check with friends if double-sided
adhesive tape is similar in outline to how I make my bed.
DIY stands for reinforced spore, because we're creating.
Full rotation of the switch passes unexpectedly beyond
spastic lemon. Survival by going limp in your arms.
Quite antithetical to its usual, odd lotus. Before inception.
Before the pump added such a horrible style to yoga.
A relic of tie-dye medical bills goats into a lover's knot.
Cautionary slush: what a good shit functions as.
Neutral, then paranoid. Then promptly enfolding hell!
The hunter had fallen for a diorama of Bambis
reverse-engineered from chemical yawning,
like a supercomputer throwing up a motherfucking beach
from low grade tea optics. During this interlude, he
said, I shall excuse myself in the most offensive – but viable –
manner; I shall turn off the street lamp to uglify it and
everything in its path, every half or overdeveloped mosquitomoth
on its mind. Don't you like your local natural history museums
natural, son? I.e. unencumbered by the usual plasticity?
Then you'll love the Loch Ness monster as he's actually just
a 10 gallon tank, missing a cap. Are you disenchanted by your
local car wash? Who would you most readily obscure with
whiteout?

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