To prefer the bruised fruit. Apple of sex, not a peach.
Parting lips in a landscape. To coordinate by the kiss, all roads leading to it. Dirt dampened on its way clearly to mud.
Nothing replaces heighth of a parapet, of a principle. Conditions of cellular production without a view.
"Stardust." Animal filament forms between our bodies. Perfecting the work or the life frets a string.
Gauze is a poor concealer. Spinnerts blind my eye to markets. The point is to apprehend the world. Achoo, you're under arrest.
On your toes the red-rimmed inclines toward purple. Your face masking a future, eyes fixed on the back of your favorite head. Light uninterrupted by curvature bears the apple away.
A solar principle surrounded by the night it blinds. The new twenties threaded through with colorful overproduction. Who can stop the Chinese orbiter?
Who would stop. Catch rain in a rusty oil barrel, see your tax dollars at work. Oxidation happens.
"Crazy." In your torn dress you follow the trail of ruby slippers. Bowery boudoir under pale glass slivers. A couch in the middle of the street.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it. The information is arranged in blue and green plastic bins, later to be hauled away. Stockroom fucking, mean what you say.
Mean what you say, there's enough for everyone.
Fruited skin of harvestime wrapped in hot foil—that's desire. Archaic agricultural methods accumulate beards of virtue. Plain as your nose.
Slender's the least of her.
Hunger's attractive package if your dream were mine. The best song in the world! The last of Ithaca's only lonely, moated by what we know. A blow.
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