Solvent Junkies
It
was as simple as waking at an oddly comported hour, finding a suitable flare
gun, and shooting all night at detuned ghetto tendons, missing indentured
verisimilitude in oration’s storied lineal vacuum.
Even
so, one out of every savory dovetailed sleep patrol would cauterize extorted
swoons with lasered pinpoint straps of tippling’s exegetical numbness, piled in
frozen autonomy, nominally fencing with epaulette mechanics for tendencies
unknown to solvent junkies everywhere from hauled-catch miniskirts to lexical
interment.
Nubian
bellicosity wrapped tensile occasion grist in floating pillbox satyrs, passing
sooty auditory mavens, hovering just above melting; pointed exclusionary
billets daubed behind the midnight hearing’s foolishly pomaded croupiers on
parole from seditious highland prayers.
A Thousand Weeks of Scenery
Children
run in cowboy boots beyond empathic high school floors to hospital selection
beeps and busty business sendoff screams of pardoned immunology.
Cousins
swipe a Texan Mafioso in durable daylight, continuity pumping imprisoned
gunslingers for leap years. Pleas denote the slackened gaze of passing
pedestrian threads, shared by yesterday.
Somehow
privileged wallflowers march to detuned martyr sauce, arms locked, boots
alighting lachrymose and parried territorial in setting honey melt.
Fortune
shilly-shallies into noontime lean of frozen facial focal length to fill a
caustic factoid, hoping for songs. Blue eruption conversations bite in
character for stone devotion marrow lines, feeding the exploding pen a thousand
weeks of scenery.
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