Bubbling

Everything manipulates a color today. The urge to make a shape is tilted. I feel my flight it mirrors the entire sky. Oars for a mindful calliope. The greeting is my vitamin of vocal rivers. I warp into nouns. Jingle them with a highway. The limousine within. I extrude a bewildered air. Abandon roots. I go after my plywood elephant. Pharmaceutical jar that the space milks. What this is is rain. The infinite teeming with opium parables. Blow into thumbs each claw and open door. This exists if it can exist and will exist and existence is incidental and beams are provided for the soap. My embarkation has been remedied by removing its destination. This is a dry public place. I’ve painted your beats on the drums. The address I used was fiddled by twelve elves and a bone. Elbows happen. It’s athletic to appreciate mustard. The artist’s ooze is a valentine to Braque. I’m over the resistance to my intestines. I believe we can endure our expressions if we use a little butter. I feel iron. A gyroscope furnishes my caboose with a spinning ripple of eyes. I grease the goldfish. I’ll never abandon the life of the vineyard. The grapes bring us perceptions of another world. The operations are ordered according to eagerness. If I’m plump when I’m old does it matter if the turpentine is beaten with red sticks or blue? There’s an evasion on the way. I wash my face with the tears of the moon. I feel a mental companionship with dirt. I can hear the gallop of horses and arrange my speech according to the luminous emotions I feel below. The garden is enthralling. The technology rattles and burns and stirs into life. This is by now apparent. The hammer is defined by its utility. But the nails are awakened by a piano. And this generates the words behind the grasp of the current.