Tuesday, February 02, 2010

keeping saddles



 and a penchant for machines. not structures. around saddles and Monday was the rain of the . half baked and wld. was. not cared for its bebop suds. or the rain thigh of the hammer and next door she was. there. blonde as death. and her breasts. yummy to the tide wind but not smart to having concertation confusing her with the dockworker of her desire and she shared the awful lump in her throat.


Mona sat by the hill siding the wind in her ruffling hair as its said and not death was the warning nor the stupid critic in frayed oppose its whoredom a sneak down to the buying ground of weak and bad. nor Good beyond evil its immanent love.