Hover sweet Heather, over the clover, under the thunder of the insect dragon. Heal sweet Heather, heal the hurt, remove the dirt from my beer sausage; from my wretched, twisted and demented circuitry.
"Bring me my hot dog" my dear Debbie moans. Morbid sighs, silken thighs, conceal the African butterfly.
"Buffy, Buffy , roughy toughy" the bit*h barks to her demanding dog friend. "Buffy, Buffy, I've had enoughy!"
Painted lips, spill over hospital white. Chunks and hunks. Flotsam and jetsam of yesterdays lunch.
"Shaddap Shaddap!" her gray head shakes, quivers and quakes, dispelling myths of flying flakes. Dispersing moths, displaying snakes.
for those who are interested in where this poem/construct is going The interesting thing about the number 8 is that it is a mirror image of itself. up down, left or right.& turn it on its side and it could be thought of as the sign for infinity .