Sunday 2 August 2009

more blundering

tell us what you remember. the soul. skin. wrath machine sound and distant happy carnival music. chanting ominous thunder hisses a switchblade. the dog barks and the swish of a broom. bells jingle and a lady sings.
silence like a river with leaves landing. fingers on torn jeans. disease called age. timer ticks. reboot the jiggling powder of wisdom. from beyond space ,an alien with tentacles mutters not another word.
blundering hurt. my people. idealist misunderstanding. one man.
grunting chickens the delicious sweat inside a straw hat. friends and politics. rich americans.
laughter and glass restaurant clinks. you've come to the right place spider.
admit the flinch,the significance within and without a sense of what of what of grunting.the real text of sex would be what. a baby screams. okay. lets see, i have something prepared.
space fuel burns the moon's shadow and scuttle claws veins clambor for denial of invading metal monsters. a crunch of marshmallow suits and flappless flags.
a zipper of a brief case made for flowers and mosquito nets. be very careful,no second chance. how do we know it works. a beautiful scientist nods and touches.
another whirled. the anotated woods of blue diagram crackers, tanned and blathering. traffic bastard files and angels with drums. a morning porcupine clears its throat. off somewhere in the distance a keyboard clicks and clacks. a crutch and a missing leg. war torn country up hill inside the mountain for there will be pus.
black holes and cumberbunds urge in the midsection for launch. traded thick bubbles in infinity, for electrodes in the deepest parts. for lack of atmosphere.
more blundering close-ups of big snakes and teenage pre-shaved after mastic tears and veneers of head crushing boulders. the ocean again. it stumbles in a perspective that seems singular.

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