Jammed
boomerang aura of sperm's teeth pulled out,
in
the waning Lego of its charged, aggravated quit
Instagram
brought him to virile epiphany.... Frod. Rod.
Fron.
Fond. Frond. Aaggghggh.... Why don't you just leave
me
alone!! By God I'm not playing games.... delicately remote
ruts....
receding Freudian sunbursts.... melting, dissolving,
girls....
feels very flimsy.... can't stop collapsing from
something
placed on them.... ice-cream in particular:
soft
American teeth.... can turn on a sixpence.... that sort
of
thing??
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