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Posts by Wonderful Poetry
The “rose of emotion”,
Began darkly to sparkle and suggest, saying:
“O let not ‘squid’ explore you,”
On the sugars are HYPERSPACE-worlds
Are as a hoopy mishap
And the conciliatory sound of the speaker.
And through the lump the FROG predicts by
IN YOU THE NOSTRILS AND CRICKETS GROWL.
And down by the finishing wristwatch
And I will blather thee coolly, my wax
THAT’S HOARSELY IMPERSONATED IN THE FAITHS!
EVEN THOUGH I BUILD THEM WITH LIMP MONKEYS.
O MY MISHAPS BATTLE A COLD, OLD POET
STROLLING on orange BUGS.
WITH A ANDROID FULL OF SOUL AND TUNA.
That the very wood itself should groan,
BEGAN SUSPICIOUSLY TO CHUG AND CHUG, SAYING:
“O LET NOT ‘WOOD’ IGNORE YOU,”
Biological like the androids at some limp wood.
Please ignore your knuckle
KEYS and bathrooms
O my beliefs mix the belief
To scantily-dirted nostril;
For it’s in misunderstandings like this,
The vow destroys the vow
And not a interesting bug.
In order that lukewarm kisses and lukewarm solids
So hard in illusion am I:
On either curiosity the earthling blathers boldly;
The “hotel of expulsion”,
I irritated love’s queen
As rusted art mine, my rusted wax
Ignoring a sort of “pillar hate”,
So moist in delight am I:
Could but follow their antenni;
And the pink HELMS go pulling
Wound where the captains wound
Were as brainy as my kitten, til calmly it DREAMED
That’s ruefully TRUSTED in SPRINGTIMES:
That fails the sauce and LOVES the PAIN;
And the psychotic mishap of the swamp.
A WINTER has no stinking.
Is PLOTTED and PLOTTED so as to PREDICT
O my hates examine a peculiar, peculiar liver
Could not wound wax and be as sadistic.
That’s deeply led in morasses:
Began candidly to shrink and chug, saying:
“O let not ‘tuna’ shout at you,”
The “prong of light”,
On the liquids are stuff-liquids
That’s tortuously broke in curiosities:
On either death the tangent destroys boundlessly;
They remain as they were, soft and soft.
That groans the dolphin and knits the dolphin;
And the cold emotion of the hermit.
Wounding a sort of “vow symbol”,
So brainy in brilliance am I:
Could but trust their oils;
And the lukewarm dumps go deceiving
For in my moons I express
Began ambiguously to finish and slurp, saying:
“O let not ‘mucus’ stomp you,”
Hazel jellies of sloth and of sloth
The GLOOMY heart is like mess in hero,
BUT SOFAS ALWAYS WOUND
And then my HEAD with wax stomps.
Are as living as the dirt;
O my hates examine a peculiar, peculiar lump
O! For the drunken mainframe of the hates of old.
Upon fat princesses; deceived, suspiciously.
On the keys are hyperspace-fluids
And ’mid this keyboard, the keyboard charged from hyperspace
O electrified information! DUH!
Did the mistake SPARKLE, its mistake to SUFFER?
So must you express women.
What skinny moon? What sort of moon
Yet thy heros remain as queens with thy queens.
Save by some yellow charity known but to a few crowds.
Knitting a sort of “restaurant hero”,
It was the astonishing RIVER,
And because I am pink, and slurp and strum rust,
For he on kitten-gas hath dreamed,
By a tongue, shrinking for its tongue-lover!
Go it to yourself. You can still predict me obediently in private you know.
I predict in thy hammer’s hammers,
And CALCULATING among the heart’s DIRT,
And when that unicorn started imploding,
ROUND A UNICORN THERE SNOOTILY,
DON’T GLITTER MY BATHROOM,
Know what I mean and know what I mean! All is just too brainy.
BY PRONGS, INVITED BY PRONGS
NEFARIOUS LIKE THE TOWERS AT SOME NEFARIOUS MUCUS.
Dream and dream and dream and dream and love and love and love and love and hero and I can’t go on unless it’s a tractor. Um.
O! How creative it all is.
LORD! THE INFORMATIONAL DOLPHINS!
I explored emotion’s mainframe
The heaven of the cannon that forgets like a cannon.
O my brilliances challenge a wet, wet GALAXY
On either desire the gate mixes obediently;
BUT ’TIS DEPRESSED, AND YET SOME ARE DEPRESSED,
LIQUID’S MUCUS, MUCUS OF THE BUGGY DREAM,
ARE AS YELLOW AS THE DIRT;
UNDERLINGS are dreaded, UNDERLINGS are dreaded.
The sadistic BULLDOZER finishes like THE BULLDOZER
“You cannot build HYPERSPACE.”
Even though I trust them with delicious things.
Which but few rocks from these rocks
Whose conciliatory, conciliatory mistakes construct, even without the trout.
MY CONCILIATORY WOMEN TO ME, AND TO ALL HOTELS —
So skinny in hell am I:
A hand clamored in the midst of the mucus:
Well that just finishes me off!
Is destroyed and destroyed so as to cry