Mr. T.S. Elliot Roger's neighborhood: 3.16227766017
it is standard that i wake here now
amid the cold blue welling
willing wailing able fabled fumbles
I KANT MARK
I KRAM NAKT
Is any Jessica
able Japanese Alpine
totally marauding mailbag
empty haiku?
What empty haiku
forms a hole
and then
a canoe.
I cannot escape your pretty
braindead features
rocks over water like lips
to a black page
if pastry
were a chef
a roman
a cleft
taking heine's bonney
a switch meet
white wet
o dear cleft
but the bacon
is burning
bagon.
I'm still pretty certain life is the maniacal form of matter,
but let's still heave pies at old cock magnets
crippled with fetsy fetish
your great sword whipped face
like a pink mush
a pink muchness
I BATHE MY HANDS IN
much bitte
I give bake you no hologram, little towell.
I give take you no Charybdizziance either
old bleak curl chuntum.
The punt
quills the twile
and the langthorn
tugs
on the root thugs
with a molar cat kiss
slick as snake piss.
Leave our daughter a loan
old Hugh!
Orange people
are in my big mouth
all the time
like an orange tongue
the heavy diamond thang
of London.
If we ever get close again
it could be punitive
language and events
for
wood bee
installed
in open events
even space
is holding
hands
so take this hatchet
glee
glee
I am so very used to
all these kinds of events
but ssill fille sod
imagine the incredible rich blanket
its carved doors
of thirty hands
poetry
cannot be tied
to skeleton
fellatio
mute
boner
of
history
mute
icon
of
time
last words of experience
a quintesential furnace
and a chaosmic smythe
ou lala ferrari
the very last moments
of brazilian
flarf
don't think of me
as your grandfather
but as hot
sexed up goo
pouring like lava
from a hose
like a forehead
I KANT MARK
I GNAT KRAMN
We should have never left Georgia.
We never did.
All topology regains its
LOL status
as a thinking of lines
by a thinging of lines
a lion clipped
is a tiger target
two big red nipples
for cheeks
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Irrony Observes The Earthing.