sign in for the unwashed leavened bread! sign in for tequila in a morroccan frog-pit! your escalator of vanity is convent-ready, where queen fortuna washes bob dylan's raggedy blues of smart-ass grace we will place medusa upon your table of stars, cat-head, woman-head, blind egyptians vanquish the floating mirrors!

kneel jupiter storm-driven! eskimo'd wineglass

broken trail of insecurities!

kneel wineglass crunched under the fascist boot

rise fallopian tube wish-list!
down path of spikes slides tiny doorknob
undeclared father at nightfall plunders the frigid cot
helpless rigid totem-pole spins madly on clothes line....
neighbors are shape-shifting neanderthal monsters . ....

The greased king of phantoms on cliff-edge pounds the touristic brains of residents sorrowful bracken i am nosing in

As Fiona at No. 26 with her amazing bathroom never sold me, supine grace

As my un-great grandfather never bowled me, You have to look after your elf
in lake tranquil's rusted auto dump, the reptilian bishop shuffles his playing cards

sleep well the fairies of my future

one finger is the twin towers in the shape of an un-mailed easter egg, in the pink corner the crowd observes a ship-wrecked whine-seller. The third one's out to lunch. It's all mud.
In the car-crashes of an opportunistic moon-blue jump-suit, sits Bozo the Clown
Aka, The Great Turnip, in high heels
Sugar-bowled, and Brazilian. The kind of river you wouldn't bank on.
And pouring from his ears is a curious ballooning debt.
There ought to be a whore
There ought to be a whore against that tree, officer!
Isis oh Isis, you're a mystical child.

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