Sunday, April 25, 2010

avalanche

Perforce the text arrives as a dead dog. People use dogs as intimidation. Ipods and dogs and ear plugs the monadic death of the contemporary shut_out. The tv death. Split between vicious dogs and jobs ~ the split between. Swallow them in the big asshole, Mona's dream. Shit them~! out!
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Avalanche arrival! that's Jill's other game. No one breathes like this. Honey and yellow wax perpendicular to the lawn. Immobile dinners and thwarting the red line of true . And the whooping cough room merges with the patented silver. But not the argent stamps fabricated by the loyal fifth column... If grammar's got Mona by the seat of her pants, it's cause no one hears, case, to gender noun the phrase its back up jury. Not the duty, but the pleasure of lovers, only on the promised bus....


At the aqueduct ceremonial bamboos fretted panes and gessoed works, she touts the phase as if a flashlight bid its stark relief, no one purporting or controlling the wave's fever . As the ruse of the idea and the countryside's bliss,

she's held the acorn long and understands better than to be bitter about crusts... and the lover's lifted neck...