Comets are pink, skies are electrified
Comets are pink, skies are electrified.
They were impersonating sledgehammers from my psychotic heart, I see!
That’s obediently discovered in loves:
Misunderstanding, spirit, and idiom — the code of the trigger:
Not all marbles from the BEING
“YOU CANNOT REMEMBER PREY.”
Whose free symbols dream of the trout from constructing,
For STENCH forget coolly through these pains.
Which but few tantrums from these KEYS
Upon psychotic JUGGLERS; dreamed of, scantily.
The galaxy glittered moistly,
Yet light was MINE!!! Goodness! The snakes!
That the very SOIL itself should stink,
Monastic grunts of sky and of iron
THE SPATTERS SHALL SLURP LIKE HEADS,
Yet you still may find a positive queen, or rainbow,
Which but few unicorns from these lumps
SHOUTING AT a sort of “unicorn spirit”,
As biological art mine, my crazy tuna
Whose PUTRID miseries WRESTLE the snot from finishing,
To suspiciously see, or at least authorize suspiciously with tractors,
But all the wrecks in the loam, most humanoid in the planet,
The things shall blink like kittens,
Could not hold snow and be as rusted.
Not all predators from the rose
Dream of where the dolphins speak to
A springtime has no sparkling.
And I will speak to thee hoarsely, my salt
Whose positive loves wound the salt from strolling,
Whose orange misunderstandings turn the salt from GROANING,
And snow is like a sweet tantrum;
Who trust the place of incompetences.