And Gargoyles Ride The Deep

Innocence is an engine of bronze, tin drops in a skull of yellow excursion. A stem of fire on a ship whose light has an interior shore.

The worst evil is the innocence of evil. The highest innocence is in a sense hideous. It strips the world of its soft deceits.

There is a candle on the sideboard. Light it with your breath.

Exalt the implicit fencing in since. The elbow, pushed into infantry, insults the contrasting nouns.

It is how a string undulates in the underworld.

The clarity of lines turn fickle behind the hum of a greed assembled from mushrooms and glitter. It all comes down to glue. Nakedness elevated to stone.

A pink contraption fights a close shave. Papier collé and a riveted philodendron teach the necessity of knocking. It grinds the eyeball toy into a cuticle of overly indulged knowledge.

Knowledge is the gauze and effect of zinc. Stir once to materialize a prophesy. Stir twice to catch a sleeve.

Pepper is but greet and room. A liberation pyramid drifting through a forklift. The cloud holds a life. The belladonna dazzles a bruise.

A finger without knots is less than a knob but more than a balloon. Kaolin mosquitoes glide by opposition. Emotion boosts a bald astronomy. Metamorphism is the job. The parlor is the afterlife.

The gape door is garnished with sunlight. The tower has been modulated to reflect a cantata. It was medieval England. Everyone carried a pulley.

Shine with distinction. Demand piles. Unnatural umbrellas. The breath of bedbugs. A catalogue of nebulas. A book of pain. Brushes for the great voyage of the pickle. A harness more skin than ocher.

Let us, therefore, freely build the puddle. Grace is an operation whose garish doctrines warrant a little electricity.

Let us create sonnets with flickered anonymous lips. Shatter change to an energy with limousines. Tailor the concertina to multiply its sounds into cheese. The hothouse intent was out walking. It moved with a clumsy improbability.

Punctuation bites.

If the house has to pack there is a skulk in it. The reticence grazing along the obscurity rubbed the sneer to miscarry a hungry soap. Its nimbus was soothed by absorbing a snake.

Pushing is pretzels to furnish independence with a pharmaceutical. The herd bleeds zippers. Lightning veins travel the power being.

Phenomena turn gluttonous. They swallow one another. They swallow the world. When everything is swallowed, the swallows swallow the rest.

Nipples are respectable. They are soaked in the work of the dimple. The dimples of sperms. The dimples of worms. Dimples in tests. Dimples in guests. Dimples in the sheen of consciousness.

The spine precedes its neural paths. The haunted chrome of ambivalence exceeds the cinnamon embodied in the oddity of blisters.

Apollinaire sips the words of the painter and reproduces them in fish, the flapping of flags, the sandwiches of nerve and trial, and the cartilage of alligators.

The bones of argument are oracles of metal.

For it is the Etruscans who marked the world with ceremony.

And it is sleep that troubles dreams, not dreams that trouble sleep. When the whale turns wife, volume unbuttons the sky, Cate Blanchett dresses in armor, and gargoyles ride the deep.