Alien fruits
For magnesium light I lifted my pillow with gold teeth into the mythical moist night, co-mingled with minions and unpeeled onions, all my vigor squeezed into a single sneeze.
All my friends from the Great Empire have abandoned their stations, have put
their slinkies in the mud.
You are a supposed person rushing late into marginilization
and less brutal truths are clipped from the toenail.
Bungee jumping with five quid and take shower early when not teaching.
I’m sure you’re gonna be somebody, soon.
Stop anti-aging, stop messing with yr widgets.
O2 unlimited: i’m now in touch with Jim Goar.
I don’t know what this nation needs but my feet are too wide for all the hip shoes. Auspicious wanderings could be fruitful with a beer gut of another tomorrow. Bus 29 to Camden Town has a high percentage of pick pockets.
Every tomorrow is recycled from today and I’ve got a green wrath. It’s growing in the dapple-hued countryside of Milton Keynes.
So let us get going then, you and I, and we will rub our foggy bottoms on the all foggy windowpanes of London.
I’m down with the tags. A freed man drips genital fruit
