Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Hour of the Crested Wolf

Eye crisp with butter and ice, let it pierce your eyeball.

Tickets to food get used when All-Stars least expect tickets to be transacted.

Triple the amount birds show of fear-privates/faux-wood veneers, venereal teeth chomping into salad Sallie.

Bloop pringle snuck thirty bites in less darkness than you ever shrouded with chips.

Dinosaur and me took time with the thoughts of others.

We harnessed all the kinds of things.

Our shawls and blankets, draped among masks, cover our hidden thoughts of Sallie, the rarely crested beginnings.

Corsets and beards and teeth and boot and sunken beards that turn smoky every Auschwitz.