Wilting sleep in a carriage abandoned behind the major retail chain location, dream that clover sneeze.
Zucchini and cheese with a morning sandwich, devil eyes roll into a routine triumph of elasticity. Frog clown hunger stimulates a post-nuptual tantrum.
Dream the gilded trampoline, fill the video with me and your family.
I might sit in the swirl alone, exactly alone. There is a consciousness here: an unmoored ragged thing.
Agitating, this presence forms and reforms repeatedly, shifting a face into a lung, a nipple into a navel. These tissues respond only to themselves.
Scalloped rompers, eyesores for a picnic, and the oozing of the dark stone portend formal wimp flesh cravings.
Wimp meat baked in plaster slabs flakes fibrous like pixelated portraits.
Tube cranked wimp meat liquifies readily, good to squirt through pump chutes to prank fancy towel vendors or witty people in silk suits. Pick on a wimp, teach the wimp milk magic today. Rip the wimp apart.
These people are properly insulated. They hate their jobs but with the fine reactions to their screwtop polo shirts and soaked neckties, paisley quilt weekends are the norm.
Twig arm hugs solidify the geometry of affection. Etched weed runes carry the whispered curses of the designers of our insecurity. Welts rise on the leather.
Truth lies in the etchings of enamel, product of rootless wives and grifting mothers.
A movie made for a goof makes dad happy. His tidepool smile tells the story of our future.
Putting me in your mouth, you squeeze police car lights into the room.
A hard gray flame in the object, which is an imitation of a person's head, makes a cool sound like dried sponges rubbing together fast. It was donated to the school by a Realtor® who owns a local pub.
The pub's funky barkeep bakes a special sort of a soup cake called a Blouse Pump. Selling them at the community farmers market, she makes enough cash to pay stripe licking hunky fellows to tinkle on her sister, a person she despises!
In the cold brick school, future netizens engage in a cruel masquerade. Dramatic brat fights occur daily, and it is only a matter of time until the fake guy's head is damaged. Repair will require not only the proceeds from the sale of hundreds of Blouse Pumps, it will necessitate less contract pissing in the name of revenge.