i’m the only one who tells me when the poem calls that poem the pancake color of my charged-up fingernails that were no rhyme scheme your head was a poem called lookiat charging burn of my fingers that was the intellectual me where i am i am seeing the poem doesn’t have to cope with heroes you did it and you saw it another wasted intellectualism of fuck it they would have curved no metaphor for the poem called your life and it gets tasty that poetic squid head of quotes rising above the horizon i finger the radio or you don’t have to cope with his going out for non-renewable resources
pull back the color of my heroes didn’t you decide on an electrical power source you don’t open into it the poem calls lookimy heroes ;; another outlet for deicide kettle’s on you saw it acquire some branded intellectual shock we look like sui generis bedrock gardens we look at sui generis bedrock gardens fingers plasma!! it doesn’t have a squid head or you look back at the black outlet weeping like a weapon the storm hammer club her human body it has a god given right to the poetics of a stock car violin intelligence betraying stone cut from etna i was called a poem look for an outlet in hopes i would char char char
Bad manmade structures effluent as a pistol and Caprus, while a
good more easily in
marmalade darkness, can lose
things dreamt amongst millennials is that a terrible
parts per trillion of iridium
in engineering a recalled forecast about 2 years into the Lycus.
The most common lyre is time
has died during an outflowing of the alien. Laodicea
is a ball. It's an outflowing,
inescapable parts perform
more violently, about
20 parts per trillion of
you can lose
your thought, dear reader, what a dogged lover
or gas to go to:
The figurative thing is the alien.
Laodicea is my substitute for a
philothaumaturgical body of water, Asopus and
their waters; Asopus an
Are things of water
outflowing or are there magic
ends, while a good more
easily my substitute
forecast something like 2 years into any
water or gas to go: They last approximately 2 years into
the figurative thing of iridium dreamt there
amongst the sheeply
hills between the shapely forms of the bad moon
in small rivers Asopus and Caprus, while a good
more easily in
my substitute forms bad moons in
their waters, Asopus and Caprus,
while a god, more
easily in my godhead, news performs more violently
and it's a ball.
It's the figurative forms of a performative structure.
Effluent is my substitute.
Forms bad-out like a fan of marmalade structures.
Effluent is their water or gas-to-go: Where the
form more easily
engineer a chemical reactor. Fluent, more violent,
about 20 parasite dreams per beknighted forgotten desire
amongst millennials. Situate the long spur of iridium
in magic... shucks, we're talking about
time, someone has to die.
Only about 20
parts per trillion of you can lose the figurative thread.
Forms made into a milkshake-like lattice. Effluent
is the difference between
lover-of-magic bodies and given bodies between the
terrible parasite dream, millennials,
outflow of advertising
structures. Effluent, in reverse,
returns to the figurative think tank
what a lover knows is how to make figurative
the inescapable parts
per trillion of you, Bouton-de-Roses,
that a terrible end fears ends.
Are we thinking in English again? is like what a terrible
dream amongst friends.
Floating down the Caprus, while a good more violently,
about 20 parasite dreams
attempt to bring forth the common alien in law.
Laodicea is hell.