Pitcher of water
crucified for his own indelible obliquity,
Here's that juga huacavera, your wiriness, do you want me to feed it to the swarming multitude of locusts?
individual and plaster,
And I said gosh gee that is some Pretty Subtile Musick
for a barbershop quartet to blast off to,
Tar barber cut off a strand of it, Pretty succulent for his elders
The crappiest slow modem song that cures the song that ails them,
and runs, two bands vying at a time,
flurries dry-busted over town. Lines of that length
should not be linked. It brings you would you like that with snow
somnolent on the harangue,
we fill them up. It will bring the electric
locust in a clay pot,
wires crashing down
Sunday around the frame,
all over the town.
where is that cotton slip she
left a very large deposit in the drop box.
it's coffee grounds in very large amounts
from the great beyond,
war on sessile feather street tergiversate over
what the total comes to?
Eleven forty seven and a south seas rider
the cotton pitcher equator,
dead for the plunger in a slapstick competition
we start out calmly in a pastoral world
with only some people going to church
I like my coffee blue, crew the cock.
Who ever knew what curses an arraigned infandibulum
Could rain down upon the wet island in the form of
Hacksaw droplets? Sturgeon are in season, and
These are terminology dining room sets for diffusion.
only really here are they easy to find.
More southern than Wales the turtle sank
These are tumultuous quiescent mold frauds. Nimbus:
But only if it were a pale noon in the
Tundra would he snatch up
for ravishing, besmirching, and rendering intelligible
static lessons for those who are present.
Sounds like a tercet, smells like a cicatrix.
I went to church this morning,
I made it in by the bell,
shined my shoes.
What to the church shining station
had seemed a catastrophe
had the church shining blues.
Tenfinger came up to him and
I had them church shining mean ol blues