keep the organics separate, in a tin box
moving day changing all the locks
hover by the dumpsters for the manna from rich cocks
everything fair game but underwear and socks
cut you soon as see you wanna be traced in chalk?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
The Fin of Mays
Oh Moon please hear my fondest wish turn my earring into a microwave dish: I'd aim it at the Pamir Knot if I were made into a robot! ...
-
a ragnarok of ribbons, armageddon in a comfy chair a soft apocalypse is ending another one's over there follow the down feathers and...
-
I am but the rudest beast one ever looked upon big and loud, always talking, probably poops on lawns a mirror is no friend of mine and I c...
-
incurable romantic mathematician antitheist antediluvian moral certainty with a punk rock gothic twist rude and disrespectful, crass th...
No comments:
Post a Comment