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paste!
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a pair of white socks,
where the tortoise is laying, pumped.
there is no constitution in Norway.
instead, a tree humpa loompa.
the beginning of futurism was in the early 1900’s
that’s nostalgia for you.
granted, the type of blood does not match
the prescription of your flippant aeronautical
formulas, and alas, thrice went the neighborhood
and you were tracking dust into the particles
apart from the particles that weren’t considered
as of now, as for sure, and so it goes.
when you fall from the haze
the dazes of bumblebees
can elevator, bottle glass escalator
the dazes of bumblebees
afterwards there would be three more
of the above that you chose.
a piercing tenor she has a powdered wig.
the stage is like a catapult
launching the lunar playing field
into the audience
how it may not be still
scattered vermin underneath a tangerine tree.
they look for the one that is the most rotten
and take it back to camp, wherever that might be.
they, vermin, it, rotten tangerine.
there explanatory rafters, up high
get me my bricklaying boots.
infusing the sunny delight
with sun and delight
was a corporate decision
but not prompted by the formulaic.
whiter than an unused napkin
(because you are so clean!)
is the nuisance that you’ve created.
it’s pure, mostly, and underrated.
scansion macaw generator
in an academy, in the macadamia plant.
play a game with me, it’s called:
BUTTONS IN YOUR SALAD.
put up your dukes motherfucker,
but then the reflection of a old lost puddle
summertime is a time for water
he thinks about his first pair of shoes
oh wow, come see this spider!
buuuuurp.
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