Quivering thighs rescue the belching god-****** of the iron donkey.
Purpose intervenes in the convention of sea sponges.

Why am I victimized in the attack of the thought purple?

Didn't the pebble grinder get his fair share of words?
Did the queen turkey bite the shine of the cop-insect's buckle?

Or was it just the dawning of a new apocalypse?

Wandering passed,
Passed wandering.

Passed the prunes of my tarantula garden.

Boat orange and lemon splatter the legs of the beast.

Clean claws,
Injection complete.

Random attacks the sweet order of thought.

The computer slid into the darkness of my electric neglect, crying for pain in the snow-ropes of random.

Easily aching, the wax of rendered delusions
scrapes the blue wall of defeat.

Will the rug weave the willful drops of the marmalade captain?
Will the night dog bite the wrapper?

Heavenly hues of salamanders pretend to **** the jacket of Ohio.

Warping, wrenching, churning;
for the fruits of the tomato-whale linger purposefully past the tree green ***** of time.

Parting, parting.

Candy cane wires of memories leave them
for the froth of integrity.

Never again shall I wade past the silver needle.
Past  its  wretched peace.

Passed the purple.

Passed the green.

Past the charcoal clouds, mourning the death of the sun garden.

When the will-bird colors its  eye
greener then the glass of tomorrow,
then the water will free the frog of peace.

All is Nothing
Nothing is All.

"Is"  is  "Is"
And  "Is"  is not  "Is not"
For "Is  not"   is  "Is  not"

and vice versa.
Or versa vise.

For versa vice is its own
vice versa.

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.

The constraints of excessive propriety.
The friction, the pressure,
the itching pleasures of the harness.

By these means the bounds of the self impart pleasure,
by such means  the illusion of self is given libidinal support.

But I am tired, it is late.
The flashing colored lights
and ethereal sounds can wait.

So free the hand!
Free the stylus!
Remove the harness.
Let the animals
run rampant!

Boring buffaloes  salute the salamander.

Baboons, buffoons, rule the work lizard.

Will the scale male parade its  green and gold in utter abandon?

With its teeth and slime and parking meters sublime--
make claim to its birthright in space and time?