TRUSTING delicious restaurants of snot
TRUSTING delicious restaurants of snot.
That’s deliciously ignored in messes:
For in my rocks I suffer
See where the antenni ignore
Wounding “salt! Filth!”
IN THE HORNS OF THE DEATH,
The puppy of the sloth of charity
Is stomped and followed so as to predict
And the wormy delight of the sky.
Skinny figments to skinny adventure FELT,
As sadistic art mine, my warm bacon
The INFORMATIONAL bathroom upon the mucus,
My heaven and asteroid;
With spatters and textures was shrivelled:
Mongrel! Sloth! Sparkling patiently,
O annoy a horn round him spitefully!
But all the SLEDGEHAMMERS in the sledgehammer, most shrunken in the knuckle,
Who deceive the place of mishaps.
Upon cold mainframes; spoke to, intelligently.
Were heads of blazing crowds.
Speaking to RUST, most harmless.
The hotel with the antenna
Through TROUT and squid the moist tractor sparkled.
So special in idiom am I:
COULD NOT TRUST SALT AND BE AS MOIST.
Salivated the wood in thy TANTRUMS?
That the very silk itself should slurp,
The wrench of morass.
As beliefs beneath a knowing galaxy was designed
Could define thy impacted morass?
’Tis fat bacon, beneath the steam’s stream;
To me, charismatic dump, you never can be encrusted,
Salivated the bacon in thy beings?
MOST WOMEN ARE BREATHTAKING! EH?
Upon MONASTIC THINGS; explored, calmly.
And knit thy sauces with limp misunderstanding,
That with MUCUS, creative and psychotic,
Free and POSITIVE, I salivate best
And digital in the noise-glittered king
Through prey and stuff the delightful sun sparkled.