I hang a cloud. I’m pulled in triggers. My portrait is your greatest molester, Parading portraits of your mother aggressor Carrying drool for mostly one duel.
The deadly electrified hot spots Dissolve my apprehensive orientation. And the streets follow a perpetual beginning, As I begin to follow Your short and oral nothingness.
Behold our forbidden solstice, Fading out and bellowing loudly. Vibrations pre-destined, a betrayal or a subscription Content in choosing to complete The death already departed.
O bless this food, so vascular after each munching Of a feared vocabulary quiz. Your puddle is a feedback forming my tongue’s Freedom to receive The implants pronouncing foreign cubes.
I’m hung then triggered. The clouds pull down Your greatest molester, all clerk and clues. And pilots are sealing up their windows, Kicking out sheets like I drool on your mother.
BIG TEN INN
At least your compassion coils on all fours. My good life wades The strip mall mysteries puking up pet bone vaults. Phones are beeping near webbed priests.
I try hard to wake The wicked universe, But wind up just hard And popular as a stranded throbbing.
I listen to the brittle sponges snore, Reminded of how foolish maps Translate explosions For black static Halloween decorations Glued to neon lime paper graves.
O I try hard to wake A luscious bartender, But wind up half-hard And dangerous as soot.
My hotel room spreads her legs. I declare our smoking vapor An order of noodles.
The morning begs me To commence this journey with uncut spikes. I focus my spit on discounted lightning. I arrange a precious hoax To endure my blindness sucking yolked wombs dry. My tender paws dissect the guilty muscles On all striped faces.
And I'm so unfit for work, With a bad head full of thoughts About ending another noble education. The mighty hose it fingers My kinder hereafter Eating the only cow Afraid of sleeping in a cash register.
O slick fiends of mine, Fuck bowing to your blubber idols! While teasing my devil's horn I've discovered an active stream Underscored by distance torn.
My victory scrapes its slaughterhouse shovel. Classic titles of ambush Poke monitors out of swift desperation. This is the better origin.
And near the murmuring border, Notorious marbles pity my poor fist. My package Struggles to conduct your murky coda. Divided containers celebrate any natural effort That shudders to last.
An obscurity so pure in its refined toil Pimps a row of shoes. Our cheap and reflective source Is perched like a hunchbacked poacher Gaining an appetite for the potted frontier.
O flayed heavens, I crave my stalker's jacket of foam. O my promiscuous savior, You must steal and crush these sloppy coupons. Then will begin our perfect origin.