Skip to main content

Yours to Deal With

Clacking sounds similar to onions. Vida Blue in Oakland teapot, relaxing full of tea. Grampus Americans settled for Dick Cheney luncheon meat, vice capital and when we go home. Sentences are Republican, tho not to a fault. We have spheres of TVs sitting near our academy. Listen to Steve Jobs.

Steve Jobs woke to the fame of being perfectly right. It was a sentence without virus, and astonished the voters of saying so.

German war machine includes great video excerpts. American war machine meets Russian war machine, while gypsies in Bulgaria reform the present tense. Hitler was a party gal.

Maoist rubber pants protect, as do Stalinist rubber pants. The baby is well, tho needs a brass bottom. Tenderness of hit man in the season of wet blankets, lilacs remain in the dooryard, province of taste. Klingons fly off handle, leaving handle to itself.

Hitler party girl dolled up like pine. Deciduous references need a day or two. A poem is propped to matter. This is how Dick Cheney got thru school.

Dick Cheney refused to over educate, instead he was pronounced. The Klingons swept thru, only examining a washed ashore grampus. Shore is for old folks, who swim by laying down.

A poem is light like Steve Jobs, filled with ammo, like Dick Cheney, and tells a good registration re Stalin. Fight with farts, expert ticking machine. Your heartbeat is overclocked. Vide Blue must rest for the big game in the past.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Words

  From the thing itself, beyond seasoned aptness. Life is like living but blurred by you were listening. Aspect ratio telemetry in myriad languages smooth as rocks approaches time to look. Words piece together things or things find words. Endlessness is a choice, written big in words as shiny as geese. Words simply take the time in radiation and radical point. Stein wrote the heft of nothing special, start there or whatever. You can slowly adjust the franchise, commodity's inner workings. Subglacial quips, subliminal washouts, frantic azure in the breeze of frosty Friday: these special sparking hallways slyly enjoin. Maybe you read too much into reading too much. Further on is where you’ll stay.

Adam Sandler Has Totally Lost It. Okay?

The greatest popular person in the world died today. Repeat: this person was young, with exceptionally pleasant features forced of radial tires. Each star in the empyrean sighed for lack of this locus of popularity. Humdrum took on new meaning, but meaning did not. Meaning is a wave of popularity toward the sigh of exceptional stars. These stars are good-looking reminders of all that is possible, tho distant from any address. Tears flowed to the heart of the Milky Way, because the popular person stood tall and well-dressed, like sentimental eagles drinking Bud Light while evoking timeless mythic pediments. The greatest of popular signs grew milky with waves of stars over easy oceans of just plain folk stalking the best. We remain ardent, tho the popular person can no longer contribute. We have to look in magazines again, for the source and severing. Levers used for leverage feel average. Again the popular trout, the popular doorknob, the popular brand of sweetened, flavoured, f...

Today's Widespread Panic Concert, Sans Banjo

The banjo is dead. Those included in banjo are dead. Inclusion is dead. Death is dead banjo dead. Its banjo is dead. The name of its death is dead. Name is dead. Its political act is dead. It sound like banjo but dead. It no time to be banjo. You must remain a rope with language and dulcimer. Only dulcimer live. All banjo dead. You are banjo, Donald Trump. Hurry up Donald dead,  untimely to dead still dead like words. You and banjo both. You is dead and you too.