Green Anuski

it is a tulip spinning at the top of your head the monkey-there where you stare from it is a hare, it has not got to pay fares, it as you too play around no sign of a demon in town-i am kindred and participate in the walzes like a new Fred Astaire, and Sandra Chiffere stares, stares a malicious angel, a trimestickal fairy, an agnostical beater, mute, a syndromistic co-masturbator- solen, solemn, solen......Red, arms, are you wild? I am the wild bear. Out in a yard, the hare in a yawn, restablishes most priorities as he walks I lay away, ontarian majority, I never not tell the truth, I lay bare to all your hands, your flower gerbs as plooks at the top of your monkey mad heads, to water my large melons, broken open banged on the ground. People, kids, be-gone, the zoo keeper arrests my articulate fig leaves so they drop in the middle of my field. The beasts not fodden, again, the bear scratching the bark on mars, the golden barn, superlily, innocent calls in Eva Brown yet....the flower ejaculates the seams and the turds. open, the heart, the ward is still. The ward is still, the ward is still closed, licorns. I am swing. I ballet inside of my own, I ballet for the hare to stare at my face at my battery stick face, discharged on the sound, edited at 94 bpms and sent to all in an email, and sent to the popes of the real innocent laid dresses and arms flowing in the room at the back of the building, she did not play fares, the hay, she did not get a ticket in the room there without me I am the eternal guitarist, I am the eternal guitarist, she is so solemn that my stare evaporates the gel on her head and may the first come get first licks on a moon time machine, to me the beat master. the peopel stutter mute and I admit myself the free beaten husband of Marcilande, Athm Back Tapires King IX, In Sicily thele0-pati oroternaire Empire in Fistis elodoxjfgfvdvdqto be plucked off the trre of BienoViston