Sunday, February 07, 2010

for to

to have done that god thing . machine to its circus. paring to its sop. the boulder crumbling at

the feet of the Signified. Son to the Wheat. Fuss to the King god and his bastions. Bastard to the Nation.

Ah! hang out you gods your dead paste is no glue for the laced up whore star! So yowled Franny her bing dong!
the yappy do one tongue!
the do gods meandered out suckers to the wilful moth.

Come over there and its the frisk of its hawk bird flying on high circling wheeling riveting the clown force in the steady sky face ~