Whump Butter

This is it: whump butter. Sparks. We jar a clank. Then canvas savor. The cloth lingering happens there. Fills thinking. We are sheer language. Infinite abstraction goes into Picasso. Moss at the easel bulbs. They form the blobs. Light comes to mindful marks through singing. Riotous shouts. We turn the parody technicolor. I drive behind constancy. Heat feeling. The muscles punish the table. Fly unofficially. Our oysters sneer. The octagonal hill gristle gets incandescent. A studio there is that tangles its bumps. And this causes sense. We smear harmonies on the circle. Pickles. Pockets the water. Then strikes medication. Hands. Do this: paint the absorption. We saw it universe Max Jacob. A milk wrinkles. Sweet indigo amazes us. Words do too. Spice and pepper prophesy slaps. It’s simple to endure a blaze. The punch twinkles diffusion. So this makes the steel travel through itself eluding cabbage. Cincinnati smokes below us. Our earth bursts. Morals toward air. I like a yellow riddle. Snow peculiarities. Follow the spirits to water. Don’t choke the bicycle. It represents us by wheel and puzzle. Gears beyond red. Effective buckles for belts that glow. Whatever explores itself on TV. Blow it into motion to make it hypothetical. Then come back and tell me what a poem is. Totems in the blood. Pointing at pepper inside the gnaw.