The Unconcious is a Bouncy Palace (Also Known as Channeling Alice)
You left on the lights of your 24 hour sign the man outside is crying I wouldn’t tell you why.
Garbage dump city reeking of the things you’ve eaten the city that never dreams just holds things and keeps them a collection of city that wakes up in no bed this city is dead at 3am when the mind is chirping where is the way to that place we’d been lurking I think you have this I thought we were that I cannot for the life of me find that damn cat that you swore to after several discrepancies basking in gore and befruntled mispregnancies that sounded harsh like some kind of emergency I am just trying to help you I’m worrying.
The bedside is made of a box and a can like the newly wed sign on your corolla van I am standing in line at the grocery market digging a hole in my soiled pocket where I stash my belonging like forevers and ash and can see the way death and life keep trying to clash a man in a hat that reminds me of yours is trying to tell me his wife is so bored but he goes on explaining through frivolous things like his cans of dead meat and his stance and his strings which attach to a glorious rectum that empties by pulling and tugging and hefting! You small little fuck and not you just in general I wish you be well and can make it to GENERAL and make mommas proud like a soldier on fire or a monk burning clover or St.Bartholemews diary I read it he said some things but Jesus remained and both blood oh the blood kept the dripping and stain away from the face of the ethereal father don’t talk so much now it just seems such a bother my hindrance is linguists I walk with a limp I fell off my horse once and then I was weak but the back of your hand is a fine place to sleep the back of a hand is I weep and I weep all wet with histories long died before me I think I am friendly it’s this place that’s detouring though I’m not the best person to ask for a light I keep burning them out in my shortness of sight.
Garbage dump city reeking of the things you’ve eaten the city that never dreams just holds things and keeps them a collection of city that wakes up in no bed this city is dead at 3am when the mind is chirping where is the way to that place we’d been lurking I think you have this I thought we were that I cannot for the life of me find that damn cat that you swore to after several discrepancies basking in gore and befruntled mispregnancies that sounded harsh like some kind of emergency I am just trying to help you I’m worrying.
The bedside is made of a box and a can like the newly wed sign on your corolla van I am standing in line at the grocery market digging a hole in my soiled pocket where I stash my belonging like forevers and ash and can see the way death and life keep trying to clash a man in a hat that reminds me of yours is trying to tell me his wife is so bored but he goes on explaining through frivolous things like his cans of dead meat and his stance and his strings which attach to a glorious rectum that empties by pulling and tugging and hefting! You small little fuck and not you just in general I wish you be well and can make it to GENERAL and make mommas proud like a soldier on fire or a monk burning clover or St.Bartholemews diary I read it he said some things but Jesus remained and both blood oh the blood kept the dripping and stain away from the face of the ethereal father don’t talk so much now it just seems such a bother my hindrance is linguists I walk with a limp I fell off my horse once and then I was weak but the back of your hand is a fine place to sleep the back of a hand is I weep and I weep all wet with histories long died before me I think I am friendly it’s this place that’s detouring though I’m not the best person to ask for a light I keep burning them out in my shortness of sight.