Monday, April 20, 2015

Moon Meat

The machine lit up nostrils with the acoustic soul of a knife
between the angelic wings of the last mirror emptiness. Mystery underwear
sometimes fail their own illusion as cold fingers and swallow rot.
A copy of dead semen has died; a puppy capsizes laughing off its own dweeb-
embodiment, nothing but baked beans and devil hands on its cross,
digging like a dog, bits of paradise trick or treat the measure of
5-inch circular trance tempting the moonmeat landing – Odd Future
anaphalaxis looping off of insect jerk sorrow alleviates suck! clown's blood
cascades off of drop-off spirits murdered by wallet chains. To cause the color of
every Karloff dad impregnated is fun! In trembled hole naked tongue elf in cheek
in 2047, I keep my gnomes away from me: peeled time darkens to the unborn
fragment insane, fathoms bug-repellent when you close your eyes, flashes a trace
of inverted crypt just by head-dream cooking in ebook. I can’t even …
watch wicked twink sapo maculam escape an impenetrable home planet,
be anywhere, activate immaculate oblivion hidden ugly in rows of tree houses;
given dick maggots, livestream-Tron comes to life. His voids sensor unprocessed.
Hers really love zero limb-detachment in candy gravity's foreplay-weirdness.
Where we are all little broken dolls, mothers in despair piecing together the benign taker. 

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