OK this is something that elves dance around,
it's a type of disarray of the pleasureful
sort are you kin to a beast or a diamond
beast or a wooden and crystal beast or an iron
flame beast or two elves or two elves' magic homes.
Burritos, delicious, from the elves at Quantico.
Buttons of grass make rock hard contact with a shirt or a shiny
overcoat or a plastic set of trousers or a wooden reactor shoe
or two wooden elves' shoes or some other kind of footwear or
plastic plaques of achievements you never did because Mom lied
about everything. Even everything Charles said was true despite
his flagrant lies, lips, loose seasons. Gurata. The boatswain was
a new bison. It was weird. It was kinda coolly weird or maybe Gurata
Schombek was something I just drank without breathing. She is coolly
the breathing person I am looking to find in one poem or this wood poem.
