Water word or a leg almost aquatic. Subway in June
between orbits. The intermezzo in the throat turning over and over until bone.
T.S. Eliot painting a wall. Or an equation in trembling scrub. His shirt off on
French television. To chew it. The occasional roar swerves into dried bark.
Behavior is crowded. But the rules are Buddy is a bioengineer who lives on
Bigelow. His house protrudes from an outgrowth of piccolos. There are many
crackling volumes and a pair of jacks which are the color of truth. The crêpe
occasions diplomas. We need atropine for pushing Cézanne. A hypothalamus conceived in oblivion. We have
cared for the body the toe the network rocket experience between dances
sanguine and open. The jawbone is a deep plan the way resin moves into
flatness. Louisa May Alcott understands the attempt. Brook at atonement,
mustard a form with bells. Cause music by uprooting occurrence in an embryo of
backpack light as Tuesday is similarly invaded by the loss of hysteria pulling
syllables of stupor. Supposing, for instance, the twinkling delicacy transmits
cake. Cake is what to build in a blossom, a pulse gown of dirt, or shall we say
a gown of objects that a boulder opera of sublime underwater grottoes panics
into nails. Habits flirt with mathematically distorted feelings. Things are
camels. Gerunds in a bowl. A pudding can mystify the felicity of trout. For
glints and glimpses of important people plead for thunder the jaw dropped in nine
different Reubens. There are movements of thinking in words that causes sand
and testament. A Cézannian engagement. Bur hysteria ivory or putty the incense
wafts and curls isn’t perverse. Or even picturesque. Think of a light stylus, a
dent and a sprawl of geometry. The talk peppered the air with boiling scenes of
anatomy because bulbs preach handkerchiefs. The Italian orbiting instruction
chamber is no better than palingenesis. All comedy is is pain buttered to a
trout new shoes new frequencies. Geometry works by fairway and is how guns
light up attention to amber. Burlap on a headlight the deluge a tuba restores to
the other instruments a clavier and a pain for calculating scratches which
hyphenate life with an emphasis in belches. I have never seen so many marsh
mallows chewed by so many candles. Those balustrades are the right petulance
for a Fourier in Memphis. French is a language of chlorophyll the same sonata
as the illustration of premium effects isolated with fugal gestures of cold
paint. Here the glass vowels of overture pulp will slowly ferret out the
mysteries of form. There are forests and scrubbed consonants to figure rivers
and an old car rattling and rumbling down an old dirt road to find a florist. Pouring
bourbon nullifies the clamor of morning in a bowl of titanium to ease the
octopus and grow milky convolution. The kernel is a kind of bulge, an open
chain like skin or pemmican, and produces Geneva. It is also a matter of
unction to say that fairy rings are sifted in Laputa. Heat isn’t fugal, it’s
moody. It is so gallant to endorse an invocation. It is something irksome to
say that there is a kettledrum, a slice of toast, and an isthmus. A fat paint exists
on account of painted leghorn and is simply blue. Shaping the air is a function
of serrations in it or burlap where all things bend into silverware and prisons
and important ways to build a crazy tent. The fable slapping someone’s back was
always somehow fat and convoluted tangs of crabbed generality. It is a nail’s
sensuality that makes it the perfect medium for communicating a nipple of lightning.
I can do anything except upchuck Fabergé. Some forms are more pleasurable than
others. Today the alphabet gave birth to a Venetian blind, and that makes
pickerels piebald. This proves that discovering eyeballs in flowers and rocks
is exhilarating and nailing the judo of abstraction to the muscle of an
equation is floppy and dance accelerates the pulse. Music fills the prose of
lumber with warmth and participles pink with pork are changed into crystals of reverberation.
Antiquity does everything it can to ratify fur and glowworms. Escalators
straying from the thyroid of Tuesday on a surface where the light falls making
pronouns amphibious like those sonatas one hears sleeping in rocks. The snake
dance is the very acetylene of fable.
Memphis at night. The prairie occupied by a drawing. Other voices are soft and
delicate as twilight, all of them singing of the many addictions to the destiny
of rice.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
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