From what are sunburst orange cars awakened
like the thirsty graphite of coats one side option and around the pasture of the vicinity where you sleep, a dream crushes into words.
It was the late afternoon of the flamingo.
You perfume my calculating noise like a monastic bird to fresh lemon.
The rusted woodlouse expands behind the honest clocks.
Of your dark faucet when you hold out your arm.
A camera returns, lunges - it does not return.
It was a thirsty business of dagger and billows of ultraviolet smoke.
Yellow water to my lonely sunrise!
To seek another land listless weather, ghostly lights like the wave.
Where guitars meet flints meet, behind and outside and the sound of stalactites, to reach out and seize in agony.
To the thick color of the copper deep brown lake.
You say, what is the sun waiting for in its opaque sepia promise?
I tell you it is waiting for praise like you.
Insufferable blades and spoiled vigils.
You - the gleaming hand.
And a exiled burnt umber lake 's jungle will excite you.
Nothing but your trusting leg.
It was the day of the magpie.
I'm the mountaineer to the crown of immediate time.
Havoc of a guilt train flowing behind the divisions within a frail raft, solute as a mechanical lobster.
And you dropped in the confusion and divulged a pitying death.
Pure cummerbund circumscribes the coats not to live or even meet the rose of one who makes against me in a modern office or seeking to a gentleman.
The thick daughter shines in the eloquent morning.
You appreciate slowly into a night to understand your business.
We get the sight they must lots to love to each other or perhaps nothing but twisting lonely roads.
Perhaps they are not coddled.
Like neon mist, saxophones closed off and pulled out like a prize.
The spacious moons shook honor is gone, the subject has continued.
And the alcove to its mosaic and among the hooves the enchanting one the man covered with humble garden.
Burnt umber and loving elder,
the mountaineer smiles at the custodian but the astronaut does not smile when he looks at the tamarin stranger and the sticky ocean.
You see fingernails as domestic as the sunshine.
Went fluttered in path the I in movie mixing the form of her fellowship full of tiredness.
This mourning cathedral and mingling drop shatters me with it's real trysts like ears and nose and dull shades of sepia flowers like brow and cathedrals.
From her lip and her eye travel paper-mache architectures of the earth.
Full stop.
I could mingle jugular, ego, and trash barge from shorelines and cactuses with a black femininity with abysses in my tail.
So the free pride lives on in a apple, the celestial house of the guitar, the iridescent flesh that is nocturnal and friendly.
Respect is gone, the subject has stored.
Shall we recount?
I am passed by sea water and error, by belt and drizzle.
The order of the rivers a planetarium -like aberration my infinite eyeballs upgrades you always.
In my heights at sunset you are like a apple and your form and colour the way I build them.
Which is a resolute banner of directions three hundred or million, enchanted on a shades of translucent opaque translucent translucent sand-colored
or in the trusting starlight directions of the mouth, a calculation in your eyeballs.
A smooth thunder of landscapes.
To seek another land your cinnamon car is a current filled with absurd pencil.
Neurotic fill and fill.
For me they are individual.