Stay Put
mr teetering on the edge of broken dexterity is more important than the cow on the street of india
i have just realised that me saying i am worried about you really means that i am worried about myself
and how i will cope if you die as my clock slides off the slice if you know when you feel
so sad that you just cant stop laughing well theres a naked male pensioner crawling up the stairs
i am inflicting a tapestry onto the plethora of options open to me vis a vis tadpoles
while rifling through back cattle hogs of duplicitous cork bands
where lambchop smog ends and manitoba red nap sends registered heifers to the cloud
of tablecloth scattertrains lynch pining the folded up newspaper i will later digest
pad tolls are getting rid of a few outstanding splinters on soma hex dual tryst split
of penultimate roster slope gel ignited tar pauline we will confess to the sole vaulter
i blame the parents of the grandparents for what you have become bad at jogger observation and
as the tears roll down my wall i feel the supernatural flanker nudism engulfing your tooth
shortly after your first mouth wash i could see limp wristed donkeys walking down the garden path
towards my unfrequented wheelbarrow neckties which were overgrown with compact risks
being rug positions never on display in kitchen outlet premises
i say the bee should be positioned on the rug side of the rug nearest to the niagaras of the presenter
bread as toast leaves me skep tickle for silver now that the stifled breadbones in my neck
look like a prim rose in your hedge as if when davids last raccoon made a face at your girlie
bug hum that had a lot on my plate whence i would skidaddle around the house with snotty tissues
on monday mornings without the scent of steel brawn on my bare white knuckles
