Sunday, August 7, 2016

Take a Little Ride

Slop the halibut slash squat. It veers into atmospheric damask. Before I was a laccolith knee-deep in granite and now I’m a sponger chewing the haze of a Christmas rose. The glockenspiel is a mythology of bells arguing the glaze of a birch afternoon. Cab finger sparks abstractions and the spirit dances.
Denim punctuation coughs snow after the ultramarine romance peremptorily favors lake trout. The saga is equally mist. Instinctively, I drawer your whatness in gallop glue. The noise of my skin broods performance. A tattooed slide accelerates shape. Motion’s twigs curve into participles. The shade initiates shirts. I strain to please a tendency. It fits the distortions. The hoe chain hugs your puddle. It is there that we find glass. The jars contain morals. A trickle of words descends into the summer of 1966. Consciousness is powder blue for a day. Explicit as a birth. The details are passionate about ears.
The almond gives itself to the tongue of a moment. Medication enhances a corner of the granite door. What flutter at jabber urges lips. This solace is a cool jerk I can mean to say as much as glue.
I have tailored my farm to sympathize with cauliflowers. The nerves are birds bubbly and gyromagnetic. Depth and volume murmur our intuitive spinning. I experience require. By that I man I require a point above contact that is both cool to the skin and slippery. If we apply algebra to the ovulation of hills the murder opens and no gold can sit down and parrot the softness of sewing.
I will be ferocious and growl.
Sound is equally alluring coming from a guitar.
The incendiary life is there if you want it. Shake it long. Shake it hard. Turn it around. Testify. Talk a whisper into abandoning the bazaar. We unite by bone. Autonomy hands its imagery down. None of it is dreamy and soft. You just feel like sitting down and grinning. Some arabesques break off from heaven and glide into the ears as music.
A cotton pocket gurgles parallels.
Try twanging a wilderness.
It feels good to be vague and malleable for a while. You should try it. Crumple something. Then blow into it. It will expand into ideas.
I word sink the unearthed crawl. A blaze happens by vague interaction with a ripened honor.
Honor. What is honor. Honor is stirring and heroic. It is nothing like cactus. It displays a long solace in translations of the moon by black conviction and throwing knives at a pizza.
This darkness is shattering the place. What are we going to do with the river? Let’s take it with us. Give it bananas. I can already spot Thursday appearing above the horizon.
And finally, I have gulped Boston. My hinges make it greasy. I grant that I have pain. Yes. But what a beautiful havoc wears my abstractions at night when the gypsies arrive and rattle their castanets.


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