from a backdrop of cadavers comes four hundred years with a handicap
from vending machine to station sanctions to dropping a coin in a vending fountain - no means succeeding exceeding past lube bearing depression machines crushed or not - in pins and needles of varying colors more red more wilted lettuce with the image of something inside - an image of an image conspiring to a fluxist determinists.
I need tomorrow - I need seventy-five more minutes - lets hope that someone in an oilskin raincoat has proper identity and is not another gog and magog on the rebound
now lets imagine boldness or shyness - too syrupy too radiant too heavy too lecherous - how about if I say I will say what if I say - you know what I mean - insipid madonnas both of them morse code as hard boiled eggs - its the last two minutes before the next before - before a bastard or swine borrows depression - lives in paris, orders humiliation over easy with a biscotti on the side - its quarter past a littler after the last time - go ahead and turn next sunday to a modernist misprints - no pain no metallica - keep smiling imagine nonexistent hands, a little too human - imagine thinking having a drink and having that drink - the mind is in the suitcase - to be determined later - do watch for swelling - and like scissors with sufficient embrace - even if its too late - drop a quarter in the machine and wait for the next.
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