Crackling Out

A proposal is our squeezed footnote, our ticket to snow. Pungent rawhide to cool your hurl. Sensation horses running into enamel. Wave there like a bend deformed on clatter. Proximity if we crawl to a diagnosis. I henna the painter’s ascension to beatitude. It makes for better rags. This aerodrome beneath shakes a gulp to dilation. I swell adherence to a crimson lake. Orchid catalogue at candy. A vertebrae of fire beaming a boa to this moment to make it lengthen into thought. Haunt cactus below alkali where my fidgeting happens. Invisible cylinder your enfoldment subverts to fish because none of this is slender.

I’m beginning to get that feeling that words are about to interact with mushrooms. Inches believe it to a gluttonous throng. Bulb by it focused orange. Ruminate secrets as pain. The garments I unravel cloud the coffee. My asphalt compass is just a shape.

Wander consciousness knowing soap into wedlock. Afternoons we skulk through technicolor. If a blaze is propelled by dimes then the light alights on foam. Energy brings the horizon to this car. Sky bulb my climb into your heart. Plant snow if they want the walnut. Eye am my own Fauve clutter. A fight edges my construction. Stilts Ear erects your eyebrow below your intestine because a handstand requires folklore. It’s not the heat it’s the experiments that reach through time. Seashore sidewalk I move by cog and whistle. The emotion about life has been expressed as a thistle, not because it’s unemployed, but because it’s yucca.  

I drag the cat bicycle to the other side of the universe and ride it around a drawing. I think it’s a tug. It’s a long fiddle we mirror you and I. My twig painting has since been rubbed. Murmur with a prominence then pummel it and add a soupçon of urine. Explode beyond perturbance dig my parable. My ramble riddle is haunted above its secrets. The groan happens if it’s pinned to your throat follow it to the words hunched together in venison. There’s a version of this in Russian that evolves into torpor. Umpteenth sweet bug I feel on my thigh. Indispensable secretion we have unofficially designated to conclude in thumbs. I fall through joy in a little boat of my own making called a hodgepodge.

I feel the power of an African road. Clatter your counsel to a life of canoes. The lightning I see behind the Pythagorean birch impels our development. The athletic wind flexes the fence. I turn infrared if I murder a recruitment. It’s as if I yearned to supervise breakfast with a tentacle and a Celtic harp. Ask the spirits what I can soothe and if I can soothe it I will soothe it with backrubs and fungus. My opinions about biography glide through this sentence malleable hot and cloth. We mint Cézanne images with our brains and our ironing. Quicken the trigger and I’ll build a sleigh and crackle on out of here.

So, you see, words are important after all. They float here from England and walk around through me like gasoline. If this infringes on the truth of mousse I will seek other symptoms with which to diagnose Florida and its semantic predicament as a fluoride. Taproot is immaterial. It’s the loops that stir the lips to aluminum.