(no subject)
Brittle knifey light, the excess of a floating furnace, bent back a set of wet eyelids.
"Sickening sickening sunday," pushed the lungs beyond the lips, through the cords and out the cracked lips into the bright afternoon like clear butterflies fluttering from the mouth of a chemical-filled barrel.
Groping the afternoon with his rough croaks he brang his 27th, 55 year old girlfriend to consciousness.
"Hellen," he said. "WE have many eggs to make!"
But we all know he didn't really mean eggs.
"Sickening sickening sunday," pushed the lungs beyond the lips, through the cords and out the cracked lips into the bright afternoon like clear butterflies fluttering from the mouth of a chemical-filled barrel.
Groping the afternoon with his rough croaks he brang his 27th, 55 year old girlfriend to consciousness.
"Hellen," he said. "WE have many eggs to make!"
But we all know he didn't really mean eggs.