Depth Is Orange At The Punishment Dump

This exhibition shines what our harmonica twirls. I rattle a bone if I'm alone. The energy carries this beside a bomb. I call it reflecting myself openly. I generate books I attract italic iron. We bend this pleasure into puddle pegs. Sashay with blood where the flames stand. I will inform you of the baroque. But the time must be circular algebra. Before I tailored blobs I squashed gargoyles. In the end, I blossomed like denim.

The scratchier feathers generate a gentle greenery. Your calculus clanks loudly in your spit. I like to carry my clapboards gingerly. Little Richard did it like it mattered. We scatter gold over this old air. I'm reckless and French and hirsute too. I have many facets to my library. My seminal war my enduring staircase butter. A journey in space starts my altitude. And a press crackles through its animal control. I find this garishness sliced by concern.

My bird has consciousness from termites. Making inquiry into space is a hope. Send the bank my freshly engorged interest. I have creamy thoughts about this milk. The hypothesis of participles clatters like jujubes. And the sky is a lavender treasure. My abhorrence moves against snatching a volleyball. Now is not the time to gape. I shall stand here naked as Picasso. It’s a process involving many different zippers.

Grab pleasure before the jump into gravity. I mull emotive so yank my sob. There will be circumstance there and sidewalks. Hectic talk is unpredictable cartwheels the consciousness. Box our unity before we weather physiology. Explode the duty think among its hats. Crackle my creosote until I get lyrical. Endeavor with mass behind you and twist.  We defend our sloppy deviations with meringue. We swear to Cézanne the hammer has will. Your wrinkles are autumn flowers in bas-relief. 

Over there a mood tosses in humor. My impact on coffee has been marigold. Elsewhere, the little I have done sputters. Can it be that translation is spectral? Depth is orange at the punishment dump. All the little neurons create thunderous fictions. The human brain is a pumpkin. Solace supposes a big bang swaying inside. Change the eyes as indicated under the description. The elegies we stroll as fathoms are dreams. We chatter amidst thrilling struggles of impatience.

I experience words by squeezing their vividness. Their texture leaves a demonstrable protuberance behind. We paddle a paper canoe and whirl. Letters crackle as I blast a harmonica. Distorted beings gave the imagery clumsy phenomena. I celebrate each pulse with an octopus. I grow a phonograph and dance exultantly. Shake a flower with my unshakeable hunger. The exploration has been miming its milieu. I seem to be pissing rainbows everywhere. I fold my southern wallet and mutiny. 

An obscurity has been plunged in controversy. A pyramidal universe most definitely has attitude. But who can decide what branch to prune? I have faith in thunder springing forth. I hear the far sound of pamphlets. The quarks dream among themselves as skylarks. And breezes carry the scent of exigency. How many times must I prove polyhedral? I prefer to plant my flags upside-down. Bees often exhibit an erratic morality. It’s nothing we could ever not be.