The dogs and the men they bleed into the fields today. The primal is protected with tradition for the blood magistrate and bared teeth. For the hoards, who’s cider ice lollies dribble into tweed. Snuffed Wellys suffocating in Jempson’s bags pressing their crescent moons into ****.
Iris flash, fast peristalsis of air on both ends of the trumpet today. Screaming brass. War only requires one note remember. One long note orchestrated by children’s fingers lifted to the butchery song releasing the blood-cell men; the forest’s traitorous antigens.
They are there to nit-pick the trees. A mercy killing, without a wall. They should have had a wall and they tell me my morals are sickly. My sensibility is held up with gum. So pound that war drum. We’ll bite the backs, tear the scruff like some death mother to them.
For the runners and the watchers olympics needed prey aspects to keep it going. Teach your children to need that itch. To save each and every Sunday school ***** from her husband’s boredom and her children’s boredom and all the things you notice when you can live and eat this side of your living seat.