pearly pleromapurring aroma with royal emotion gone pluralseeks purple affection from a pearly pleromathe blurry aurora he knows intersects inflectionswith reflections of impact craters aching for actioncrafted common with the intent to intimatemore intense connections to inward timenot to kidnap your loyalty and lock it in its moonroombut neptune's tinfoil drills for oilwhile, my pretty plenumsoils forests with her flower fists playfully,'cuz she's so open she tunes to the luminouswhen she looms -i mean, blooms,her horned plenty's filled with that planted plenumand i am buzzy with the same needy momentumbut neither of us are ever too busy to stop and smell the romanceeven if it's only to get out of our arrogance again in a momentshe tries to be girly, yes, like her flesh says she isbut she wants to disregard the chiseled choke of ropey roman musclesrobed in boredom from mopingso she's always trading chancefor dancing with the numinous musicjust remember, this is a yawning fawn
rest is easyyou tell me: "anything given has no value,"and: "if you give in you have no valor" -but if that's true, then please tell me, too:why would the outdoors allowsuch flushed hues to dawn aroundthat hushed doe over there?she's not trying to get you to fawn,it's just happening, like clouds do.who makes the green grass agree to grow?and for who's sake do the knowing things sing so low?are they proud, like you, of the power they show?do they announce it everywhere they go?nobody told the wind to blow just now,but my hair gets mussed just the same,even if no one's looking.i say the real thing is never the seemingbecause you can't see it directly.your lonely snowflake dreams are falling blanketswhite and quiet like space, yes, but always meltinginto the torrents of more terrestrial streams.you must divert to water your flowering,or else risk drowning in the sound of your riverbed crying.are you listening?you have to stop screaming if you want to breathe better.because whe
the lying witch our ward rodethe lying witch our ward rodeis the silent fix of a solo sirenand a warm robe you worethat inspired the anonymous fishto row your foreboding to its blowholeand wish for its own unfoldingnow she's bowed before uslike the lion she was missingship-wrapped in a wreck of ribbonsbut still fibbingand that's all right 'cuz it's just fictionand this bitch wrote the war that bored usthen said: "sorry, i flinched!"and the lord came and scored anywayfirst i got to savor getting a lawyerand hitching my thom a saviorbut it wasn't all that specialand all this thorny devastationand state-to-state didactic art dictationmakes travelling in an automatic dialectic feel feeblelike a mad mattress salesman with no directiondeath doesn't even want to meet himbut his dentist loves himbut that over there is the stone table we brokeand i want you to take me back on itthen make the ten piecesinto the tablas we'll learn to dance tolike our common tendencies command usdammit, coming with
diving fooldiving fool was driving the yellow bug marine for a whilefeigning dying to get way downinto the bottom of the undergroundwhere the sound of oblong songs thundersand wonders are full of long bubbling tunnelsbut he wasn't looking for the diving foal in those troublesrather, the material treasureshe tried hiding her loverfrom a more original pirate divinerfired in orgone and riding a pliable originthat's the golden boa, and he did find itbut a brandon don't come for freeespecially when he's balanced on a treeand the hardest wave to makecertainly isn't seizing living for love's sakeyou can't just drink sake all the timemake yourself sick on itand then act like it actually gets you highyou and i both know how to say goodbyethat dry gully's filled with 'be good'but the only way a lonely army guy can pierce his callingis to crawl on his own gullet through the mud of his fallen colleaguesand i'm telling you, this soft bullet is telephoned injust like the telling division
mayday, made ayemayday, made aye! my maiden did IM me!i aimed my mad eye at her hindsight while she dined,making it easier to fake dying in the daytime.the dame ate her took time,dated every rook that nooked her cranny,mimed and emoted every 'i' she found broke for granting.her bulging iris fled on wires, but as my fab flight faded from sight,a new life sighed into an old lie laying down with layla.then crying cradled 'i'm not smiling!' in the crow's round armsfabled in baleen labels but not seen since an able rower cameto save our samples from drowning in the bailing sea.so instead of cain killing abel with a 'maybe not',a warm belle came and told your favorite treeto come home and smoke the knot out of your needy wood,while we untie the rope that wound up around our feetand hung our feelings out to breeze on those airless, terrible teeth.
my fig fidgetsmy fig fidgets, dirty destiny!and wicked thickets flirt my density!so no more denying!no more sick, senseless sentencing!you'll be needing every digit you can getto count all these different gifts with.stop forgetting you don't need a keyand see the rocket forest for what it is.know you own your new york desert now,and that a happy, new apple dessertis a high from honesty towards goodness.meanwhile the trifling gold of a 'hi' from a starved doghides the tiny goal finally awarded to usby a hidden god, long thought gone to the stars,but all along growing inside the green gongof a different fawn, fallen down and always going:"what's wrong with MY agreeing lawn?"