More Frank Criticisms of Hollywood

What N must sheave the planar twisting desk, you belle,
holy desk ka, your ba-aba shadows any hollow hawking
while the torus encluses toro

black bull inside the honor skinned toroid
i smell synthetic pomegranates

synthetic pomegranites perfume a bull
the lounging bull's contours are svelte
and difficult to perceive correctly

if one draws flies to a tale of bull
synthetic pomegranites fill a void in a two-skinned bull
of glass become my chin

my shining chin
is a glass bull
which emits the pomegranate fragrance

i imagine an eros of openings
but instead am presented with the closure
of the field
of corruption into the many
of corruption into the lag
the lag-bolt
the stag-dolt, or what ontology cannot say by saying

anything

a harsh woman is yelling in the street
but i am nothing more than the smell of poemgranites
and i waft by

on my way to commingle
in the fluted nostril glass
the pipe organ vagina apotheosis

a blood red jelly bull of skinless poemgranite flesh
plays the vagina pipeorgan

just say anny gavia

anno gavel

a noggin available

a nig nog doubling
as a cotton gin

"I haven't caught on again.."

~white blood has been done