Monday, April 25, 2016

In The Eye Of The Dust Devil

Water at the intersection of tunnels made of licorice, glacial muscle sprained
by Adam Sandler in a dust devil seemingly extended from obscure chemistry.
A glitch in his Amazon gift card eventually capturing Mr Coffee execution-style;
VHS antennas along the planet's cave touching vegan space.
In the Mortal Kombat sex position downloading a symbol akin to
a bad kid's mind control, self-destructs nauseated by the bakery felony.
Blood-soaked, she gives long pauses in Prada id saying
sorry, what do you mean?
Aimless demon heels leap, as hell rain slides into your DMs
stereotyping psychedelia's livid tendencies –
the funerary memory a carbon eat-athon, the river fragmented
in a crippling aerial shot...
The lackluster sinner dragged along sexily is alright,
would hack the sofa again until shame puts a hat on this snare.
A giant gathering on his own milk. Passive fucking all day.
The toxic avenger grabbing Genghis Khan's plastic bag like
a cheerful monster pulling a kitten out of a tree. 

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