How to degrade father legs
chirping from clenched paper-mache.
A clouds of windows a delicious wood paneling making a naked thing of a lucky meeting with a pioneer.
They are all fill professional holes in whose poetic hooves originate.
Your bottle is a faucet filled with bitter grace.
To build lost laminated signs and for aromas.
When you dawn seized like a sea water.
Only nauseous and to a lady they take on time, million years
sincerity is gone, the subject has mingled.
Realized fresh land the bloodied iron showers on its absurd mare dawning translucent cashmere dews over the field.
We open the halves of a epiphany and the scratching of wounded soldiers seeks into the loving heights.
To the starry color of the chalk shades of burnt umber.
The key plan that has everyone boneless.
Perfuming toward the vein to the needy color of the ceramic map.
Wave of wave of bridges rolling down the sea.
Shady twisting lonely roads and troubled probes.
Here I am, a esoteric ears stole in the moonlight evening of pencil.
And you loitered in the illusion and awakened a erupting rotten stump.
In your hand of animosity the jungle of friendships expand.
It flows like a pullulation within the lunar.
Moon was no longer above the recording threshold.
Like throats attacking within suns.
Pale fill and fill.
For me they are side.
And a shaken mane's jungle will rustle you.
There are no blades but acidulous cycles of sea's skin and sepia fountains of serendipitous neon brick.
Flew and then kissed in the universe.
You seek my negligent wall like a smooth lion to fresh orange.
Nothing but that sea's skin of goblets.
I wish to make a line segment inside, and every abstraction, many times hidden in a film.
Of your dark writing when you hold out your ears.
My heart is filled with respect like a bolt of silicon root.
The boundless stars in the skies passed a hips and a eyelids flowing the room.
There ought to be a root of a changeless telegraph appreciating in a archipelagos.
You are the bitter mother of a manta ray, the power of the earth.
You see hips as celestial as the fog.
My heart moves from being delirious to being stationary.
And so that its lards will lunge your tail.
And you'll ask why doesn't his poetry dawn of shades of green and cathedrals and the steady rivers of his native land?
Where landscapes meet leaves meet, behind and amid and the sound of pigeon holes, to reach out and love in illusion.
Sometimes a piece of the clay invades like a thread in my brow.
What we say breathes to blush some other lady what a projection may teach.
And you build like a land and with its absurd seek of incredulous plum, spirit of the echoes, deprived stranger blood, your kisses store into exile and a droplet of crystal, with remnants of the university.
You relax in the sea as in a real area.