Sunday, May 03, 2009

Come to ridding



______________ Stretch the neck limit Jill


Yank that desiring machine. Hold that thing. Rev that truck. Wrist that blink. Come that rail. Switch that feet. Bust that goat. Creep that zoom. Feel that bass. Rum that ship.
Alright, sez Mona is that your Jill to becoming woman as its transept is working overtime? How come you feel like a Baton-Rouge with your sexy buskin booties each paragraph a mouthful of sandwhich and love's busted grip. Ok yer near the perpinquity clip. Not fighting by diction however covered in mantled fat weirdos. Ok the city is french and yer gaz a coeur is a deskdrawer of faucet leaking. What becoming round the deconstructed patois can you continue. I have the voice to radio and the near to blinking blondes at window. O window winmow. This geology of your sorcery is not native to its sheer bent will. The photograph standing still. Heavy to the treetrim the load is buried. The old rails buckles hefting the city's burly pavement by its weight.

She is near this laced hip, her mound of Venus is a fair song to your elevator prompts.Once Merleau Pont was riding an elevator gloved as any tailor. And waiting wainscotting the men in the golden hawk.

Come to ridding Come to my ridding Come to my riding Red Riding Could.
In the wood in the wood. She's any baked matter.
Matter!

what are you speaking matte for you fool!
Dont call your brither fool
with your blarney accent.
yer brogue for two on the hammock of fussed feet.

_____________________ Now is this the doctor of your page?