Whole Foods
@popular, or @wholly_fooled_downturn. Would you like a resistant
kumquat? (Nightly military raids). The day after town stuffed in tin.
You were regal, halftime. We pronounced a moratorium, a brand name
for hygienic reaction. THEY were surreal, finding awesome in the
packaged naan. Trending Vietnam, Elysium Fields, nirvana. Like the
ekstatic over/under of could KEITH MOON (dead item) promulgate. It
could only place language in poem. Your step to poem now.
The aliens merged with diastrophism. A rush thru the funnel with Dick Cheney prompts a reply, don't you think? The mud of his glance places real time constancy in jeopardy. We really roll with the punches, tho Cheney's eyes tend to ignite squids. His armpits repine with a patient whoosh that smells like blueberries, eternal boundfulness of Dick Cheney brain. In the meantime, like river flocks, we steal a porch. The utter eye jets of the alien enterprise writes an interregnum. We knit a scarf called socialism, which appears on tv as the gravelly person on that show every night. Cheney hams it up. Secondly, dream manifests in the sunlessness of rectilinear retreat, the storm of space. Driven noises suffuse patents. Claims of Obama become structure. Ideas receive graves. Back in the future, where we crowd the bed with details, a fire starts to smell like blueberries. Blueberries include the idea of porches, and shatter indifferently against chalk lines on sidewalks. The peop...
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