Monday, April 12, 2010


In the panhandle of begging you return deft star of the night. Mona's belong Jill's call. It stretches that way the ringing colour delirium to the fat wheat.

That way you've nothing left. Climbing the haystack untucking straw and wondering wheat. Does this enter the question Mister F?

___________________ its called bat's ass soup it goes with pig's eyes and rat's fuzz. and ringworm and tail bone rough feather rogue pated brains!

Hold your horses you slaves! we're off to the charge! Calvary booming!

Hey Ho! What HO! running in with sprinklers stamping that red fire blossoming hither and yon and all about . Tearing the buildings down and loving the faces. Thus the wrinklers of history.