the tin man is sore at the elbows night makes way for dawn missed in sweatincavesheating fleshandlanguage Siren sings tin to the rocks that familiar crash cymbals wings burst out tins back
city has done what it promised in fantasy and true. She opened her legs and we climbed right back on in there farts breathes sings burps cries yells cries. Gummi roped in sneaker proll dreamed a cleat in the balls is pissoiur shower paranoia follows head in the ground feet in the sky all together now. man gets older it never stops italian soaps memories memories shafted by the timing of the end of times sense or good prose is not my quarry. Burnt down from the inside did they swim the moat bring up the bridge houseboat in the high seas? blowing the webs out revving the emppties out all over the screen just to hear that tapping that says the brain is dancing on the keyboard without a mind. Tipping mental cows may never get up slogging through yesterday backwards from the weird bromide of the gronks memory. whats next running off with the circus again.
