Wild cherry blood
Wild cherry blood in the veins of the stars: will the hue subdue the moaning of the perniciousness hovering over the avaricious incoherence of the forgotten verb. Will it lessen the dazzling delight it arouses in the precious artifice of idleness. Plainly imagine an exact difference all alone, but not a lugubrious repetition. Can you hear the air in my asshole giggle like a lunatic in a steamer trunk. I am in love with only one syllable. In the profuse moonscape of a puddle, the sodden smoke is artificial when I choke on it, an apricot pit. Are the disturbed disturbed by a constant vegetative tone. Gesticulations mutter as I adorn my anal opening with a little dab of rancid sparks indifferent to being pierced. I was imperfectly irritated by pieces of noise, leaf meat, a fireless splintering off in the steel box of pleasure breathing snapped syllables, the distressing whirl in the rose, the actual aching glory being retracted unless it is plainly unshattered. You will utter my stringy name. You will never see any resemblances in a heap of coincidences, unless clouds of pansies and parasites are anemic to the descending accumulation of excrement. Shiny muscle in my mouth, silence of the sentence's shallow breathing in the vicious turd's curl. Flashes of chalky teeth bellow unflattering, immensely bitter secretions of tremors. Vivacious swirl of shit, piles of lipless nipples silenced, aghast. Mingling in the fluttering twinkling, the thicker colors feel the recalcitrant pinching, the inundated pure commotion of wolfing it down unflinchingly. Shit smeared in my beard, fucking your balls: I know, I know, I see, I hear. I can scarf up the pensive gayety of the calamitous piss as softening drafts ooze in under the backdoor of a summer morning, interwoven within the sheen of roiled simmerings wrenched to clash with the hindmost gouache, a ghostly tract inflection nudging itself to itch against the sweaty nuts pressuring the doorknob backwards. Polyp-less pimply map scurrying toward my 4 root canal tributaries, tassels of testicles, I was taciturn -- snickering chills & fever warts -- plummeting petticoats scrambling to line up with the perpendicularity of the beige havoc screwing the gashed tones in a heap of (heart-throb honed) hidden organ pipes, a cow's switch, butch bitch, permeating the quintessence of my roseate anus when unstressed, the unreal music of the indented, the defused, the imperturbability of existing in actuality with the absence of an overt copula: to inunct, anele, or embrocate a volatile liniment of massless flaws bafflingly dispelled in the ethyl ether of transverse, liquefiable flattery. --Bob BrueckL
