I dip
a Caprice I laugh at gin the sun has its influence. society becomes suicidal
such a word I have a hard time using it. wilder whispers wreaking havoc a haven
in destruction. so mad about media so caught by media it becomes a paradox.
such coarse weather so wrangled so indecent. I ate Wing Stop a heart pulsating
a carriage for a newborn. inmost thoughts so alive in you it feels perfect to
sex with you. such a feeling a landline where parachutes come one to a dozen. a
coffin birth a refrigerator curse while most are asking questions; to see
beginnings to sense mediums while wild a delicate machine. a hybrid child
something so conditioned while catching angst from each side—those caring
apples those peach pies while Love combs by a hundred strokes. too nameless to
catch her too nervous to affect as a change in its millennial. (“THE DINGO ATE
YO BABY”). so attractive so sophisticated such a raw filthy mechanic. so
reptilian or American such brushwork to condition a scar. we ran faster we took
a polygraph, several failed. something so gray such inadmissible evidence,
while it slipped out. but a drumstick for a drummed/thrummed society, while mob
fever is deadly. but to lies so curt while Love is defensive. to plan its
extent, to believe as it feels, for otherwise a man is a fool. such trauma such
a family while adults spend life trying to unlock it. furious frets so captured,
with peas for dinner. flyleaf notes diaries for membrance where mother wasn’t
considered nice. surefire molestations a ghetto serenity where people select
new kinks. to perish quite often to accept detriments while claiming to love—where
love is impossible!
