The oui ours of the mourning, when the earthworms turn over in their groves. Tick. Grownless fears of cosmoonauts and seafarers. Tock. Quell her, ate il? Dick’s o’cock and all’s ‘swell.
Then one foggy hockey night, from the trouser trolls came the starry messenger. Jumpin jimnosperms! Snatched from the Jawsovass by yr mother’s tongue.
From the east three wiseguy anchormen rode the airwaves. Blest with inborn terrors of metabolism, stillbeans runt deep. Like true bit players they knocked at every dusty dormatory but never knuckled under. Their progress was filmed over world locations. (Thanks to the gallivanting man and galvanizing women who forged this diskomentary. Honorable cabinetmaker and his unter counterfitters.) Reel whorld, rewind again to the. The unelectable modality of the televisible. You can tell true norths by the swagger of their satellite dish.
Loose lip sync ship, admirable. Don’t make waves for the only snowplow in Hawaii. Mice eeny attic. Those salami days are hef a yearbook aweigh. Come the revoluption we’ll elute to a different drummer, yr insolvency.
Hault! Hoo ghosts there? Friend or photon? Mirage, blinded with jalousies. Why would a blind man don a shirt with callers? Bomblast and flustian be darned, it was out of one freudian pun or innuendo. Networks in the howls. Noble gas. Two headaches are better than onions. Maybe now I can get some sleeps. Bone a petit, Aquinas.
The moon is rosin, starstrummin. Zodiac is what we dodecadance to. The fairbooted fringe philosopher’s second rerun, loitering up Main Street, our fourth instar inveterate. Did ya gettys address, port? The bells I hear. What noose from the felt branches? The infidel castrato. Hoist the bastard to lynch. At the bay of pigs, when the crocketts got hoarse, we hung a second looie. O joyous day! Guillotine of character intoxication. He’ll die in vain to get life. We ooh it to ahselves as free radicles. When we had the chance, we shoulda clapped him in the clamor and thrown the book away. Away that kin be spoken of.
Come for a spin in the turin machin? That’s coit alriot. Ivy forgiven yew. Forgiven even yr good name. Thirty paces de resistance in one silver-tongued battery. Suspended sentences.
He looked over his shoulder to see the music box set afire by a very projective patter of young women into which he wanted to insert his twobits before the vending was over. The morel menangerer, that milkywayed saprophyte, is diene to release their bonds.
Suffocating spiritual babbage. Coupling chromodynamics and constant static. Wirds like old time on every branch and peeling. A whopping percentage are having sexual problems. Foreign hand worth two in bush. Can we have a bit tweet? Starborn and french bred. You got to be a football hero. Gnawing halfhearted she bit into bone. Alice doesn’t live in wonderland anymore. Guth to look up (a field of ups. Hummer and satchel) that article under lingere. But the librarians are stacked agin me.
The son is horizon. To the H-Bomb hideaway, where seldom is heard (quark!) a critical mass for the blasted trinity. Old Muddler Hubble’s mortal sin. Slap him silicon for missing mess. Cross yr bows.
And us? We’ve got more guts than Great Red Spots. Letus zenopause for refreshmen, ladies and paramedics. Metaphysics.
Off kilter, off danzen, oft blunder and gluons. Blame it on crooked politics. Would the nox gassed police state yr name?