Strangling
tele-puke with a Telecaster
is
exactly like draining a glove. I mean, why shoot, thanks.
Popped
bloodstreams, repeating indigoid.
Numerous
quit, helped fast far over
dangerous
head smells outside around
next
along. Too close together, welcoming &
chiming
on my space chair.
Whale
song that tells me
what
the television is doing
breaks,
like a witch blanking the beefiest frog.
Indeed,
willing, optional fan art, on the floor,
mashed
fountains, difficult in the dark.
Accessed
viscera quirk crocodilian quack,
bludgeoned
to trash tripedal-tailed.
Manga
Smithers enters green void:
driving
like an idiot. Distortion pedal to
the
metal. The lattermost email tool alternates
between
goatish and fancy nonsense
attached
to the ejector seat
attached
to orchids that choke e.g. a condom.
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