Wednesday, May 6, 2009

When small little cupcakes grow glistening spring, I cleave their clothing with pepper whips. Tell me the truth child or we will surely dissipate tonight. Think first about marshmallow puffs, about sticky regrets, about stuffy nostrils filled by syrup distilled. Chiefs inaugurate their chiefs by combing hair into clams, golden nodules, glistening proudly above God.