Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Rummage sale

Jill, has a sleeping iron. Of these there is no geology. At the desert's tongue, its bent part twisted on the sheet of yielding . She stand. How was she over the desert and as the phone was it Mona that, hearing its infinite plumbing .... Ran? it is ran She ran ran ran... As mister penman says she rain rain rain in ragtime airs and shuffling toe tapping and its the 1920's and what have you got there terra cotta ?

She turned the ceiling. her hand's thumb hooked to this cock that created god, hollowed the sky breathtaking pillowing the mirror the room the bluff.

O the hoodah and howl. Ink wind stains the mind. Roe and ram clinging the edge. The rock standing vertical it's a fan of limestone, keeps the dirt'n dust down. To say nothing nothing to say nothing off the distant.

Ambulant. Parent. Keep clean ... celerity clean yr arse, its gotta be white that toilet bowl... we're never too soon to wash that arse, switch bodies, care package. Over the regurgitated army of the south, the anteaters to north. Bivouacked like broken monkeys. She's got geology around her thigh pits. Are you laying down the vertical Mona_ stepping forth it’s the whore queen herself, now a converted Mama. Ranked to her fourth depth, she’s bullshit plaid in silk.

Scaramouche you’ve always been a blow-hard.