I love being in motion. This is how we find precious metals. There are things in this world that elude our perception. One must adjust the seminal because it is effective and arrows thwack value to syntax as a form of sexual freight. Daub is just the weight of desire.
Parables help to discover that which is iridescent and beautiful. Mahogany and jellyfish. The monkeys of Madagascar. Nutmeg expands to include initiative and phantom trumpets of midnight jazz. Doctrines of silk encase the windows.
Hallucination acts as a mint to coin you. The sawdust has wings because the elevator insinuates desire. Bulbs demonstrate this with mania. Lucidity is the result of exzema and sticks. That the cocoon was baked in a pumpkin and hatched out of a face-lift means only that a doodle has fruit if the persuasion rouses flotsam and the creature in question is able to exist without the bias of preconceived ideas and feeds on the nectar of metaphor.
As for the farm, it was swallowed by a fish in the sky. All these words do is amble into morality. They do not bring the farm back. They can only allegorize the cathectic by filling in the cracks of each emotion with sand and lava. And this must occur when the number of heat particles hitting the sentence equal the number of heat particles leaving the sentence and are conducted into the brain by gleeful cells in teaberry reverie.
This is oblivion whispered in tin. My name is Percy Bysshe Shelley and I approve this message. The trapeze keeps swinging until it is pulled back by a man infatuated with gravity. This further induces the friction of interaction. For instance, there is an ocean talking to a cake on the other side of the casino which means that arms are whales of ancestral staircase.
Now roll the dice. This sexual sternum this consciousness washed with ideas of concord. This source of conifers. Conferences and shining. L’Estaque causes clarinets but it is not just trumpeted it is painted.
Think about that. Fierce feelings are there to join the paragraph in its infancy. This is how life becomes a secretion. Ink springs from the pen in a slide and generates Apollinaire. A flavor burning in the powder quickens the wrestlers into action.
Being balloons in dimes on the ceiling as a ball rolls into romance ravenous for virtue. This is its shadow widening into bleachers. Sometimes it is longer to stray from meaning than it is to embed some lines with gold. One way or another you hate to keep the tourists coming or the whole enterprise turns Mediterranean and oak. Plato plays badminton with Swinburne and convokes apparitions of flickering aggression that remind us all of the shuttlecock that is consequence and the fine solid particles of matter floating in interstellar space.
Chaos is expansive. Voices amplified by marble. Listening to one’s own emotions is everybody. Apples that voyage more iron than a spoon collect the pulse of the sun in boiling leaves. Cries of hirsute shorebird build into January or snicker into candy.
Peacocks explain the need for books behind the study. The pumpernickel falls into the sand and a sail spills wind into greyhounds. The lines around my eyes are protected by a copyright law, sings Mick Jagger. Should the map show fidelity to the ground yes certainly but it should also display grandeur. Time is nailed to space and there is a sea that describes this.
Many devices start by hope or turmoil. There is meaning in this and gurgling and parables. There is more lip than throat when a muscle sparkles. We are accentuated by constraint and atmosphere. It makes everything pink.
The scream dribbles out of a muscle and strays into ecstasy. There is such dripping soulfulness in the sound that we stand at the frontier of music. Sam and Dave sweating heavily in black pants and white shirts. The journey of life begins with soap and ends with kisses. The algebra of garments hanging from a peg creates a long blood and a bouncing knife.
The bugs are anomalies of the tide. The search for meaning begins with a convocation and strains to seclude Euclid’s eyeball in a summer resort. The neck is shrewdly designed to include a passage for coffee. Nouns smell of tea and barrel staves. This is why poetry is slender and blue and hammers its way through books in jaguars and brooks.
Living in Reality
1 day ago