Grab at the grass
2006-07-18 - 10:11 a.m.

And the quails of your days should lock themselves in brisk fashions and dedicate their hide-outs to lemony tins of acidic curiosity.

Check with the spleens of a marble hooded fence while you monitor the beavers of tangled and collapsible exits. Input into the ice a magnified juncture to gyrate the fiscal nymph.

O what gooey times will sail into your dreams
and leave you melted on a vacuous rut of split seams
while the gutted boat tips and spills hardened claws
that crave to split open the delicate soupy laws.

Sit awhile, and continue to breathe.

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