Exciting and expiring, they lit the flame, became fast friends …
A roundabout row of desolately misplaced daisies which have been lacking in ferocious after-growth – a kinship with him no less reinvigorated by this seismic thing
Sing it, see it, sizeably say it – ten thousand minutes unwinding per perpetrated millisecond, this is the chosen ghost-writer who will still battle the challenge of words til worn right the way up n wound-about right the way back down again til duti-fully utilised by desirable disguise
Para-lyse We, please, and make it play-pretend derogatory whilst all awhile peppered in promiscuously desired white lies – with your lust for guided life, step-aside strife twice the invisible fight
Taking the world and transforming the turn n the twist, the drivel n the drive, the motherfucking searing d-i-v-e of its meandering sun
To make-believe gold-dust.
Fairy-tale gun which has been crippling our minds, and one at a time, by the wishful whispering’s of our imagination’s quick-rushing touch for indelible foresight. Natural actors that they were. These pen-held pellets placing themselves at typewritten hand.
Albeit pardoning themselves beneficially insane. This is his peroxide pond.
Plenty of fish – midst seven billion bitches.