Monday, July 30, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
Friday, July 20, 2012
Tempests behest (at their apparent heir), those pens broke dust with breaded sinners and diners nicely. An ode to the sugar, mounted atop peering lye and scan/dale, priusing of chuckle change and clangorous temple fudges; tombs akin to soaking prigs and hoary sore swears with lugging wheels squared with crowley and scrim; fire panted tunes of santa-lose and hum-bell sprinters wailing shim & shire thongs of abuse leaf canon; scimitars lit with tucked trickles of greasy corn pleas and player fastidiousness worn creased and easy, don't tease your brother, ol' mother sow with moth-in-pull and the cheating teats you made lore of with denim dreams aged seven and up through the eleventh daddy prong. A good horn hilted at inns and pottery, made through the bias shivers of coelacanth whim. A blessed mess this more than queasy east left fort western molest ocean's worth of ronald, chump, and terry. And harry, as stump spoken breeches would go, they'd all toke together, 'ploring of piss and weed, stoking their chins & pins and coppertone slacks stacked over tubes and an october ruse; lads with dentine hips, byzantired ol' ships, slugs tugging wimply lean; foster sisters with the huns and whisps, keen to rattle a skyward jean, so high you could smelt the cotton subs with a brass and keel and johnny dice motor door whisker, abated in shadows, rested well save for wednesday's son, so eclipsed in crumbles, those teas would toil, boiling greenbacks runside-up, mocking in yoke scolding colors beholden to mild praying, a knee deep stink as we all begged for a mere twenty to lossy our gasses and pretend, again, all was linty with smilewides and caverns of honey.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Hmmm, maybe I can teach my cats about surrealism, with fish! Of course! (Seriously, I woke up today thinking, "If I can't teach my cat about surrealism, it must not be a worthwhile endeavor." I thought that maybe I could dig a hole and not put a seed in it and the cat just might understand surrealism, but that didn't seem like a particularly feline approach. But fish! Yes!
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
But it wadded into and through like a conscionable heft, but (cheeks pressed to mirrors outa' bad faith) that J had to row. Sidelong schist and candied tans and a feel good fissure? nay nay: production droned on with its paramounts, lined side by buick with clapping tsars courting collared lips of laser steel and middling rents in check; rotors with seedy gleams. O. That child had to G.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
A splurge in the the ol' greco had reeks of tedium. Lots lost were the vacancy of jowl -- cold bits and bites of tar flap that measured the immeasurable in sects and sex, like chewing too many proverbs, adjusted accounting aunts with proverbial ruse, tied to be fit, and loathsome as axes with bits asunder, deeply mouthed in hues of implausible spring's hay and trilingual aspics, too soon to dare.
Would you, if you couldn't try, at least perspire trusts for an eastern arms' spread, hoping for a reach-around by daybreak, or simply the letter Q. Would you pry?