a brimful of steaming… or what the trousers said when they were wound up tight in a bundle.
yasta or the pasta that eats itself a day later. that’s all the gummoed moncario that we have to offer. or some say ya. i can’t eat for dreaming.
or today, sitting at the desk, arms curled around the head… wondering y y y . and feeling the world crush into spirallysplintery hordes. and then it passed.
watch these waves, the quicksand’ll getcha, boy. turn yer back on it with peril looming and you’ll be shuttled down to the netherpard. oyex, that’s what yeoldeman tolderme. gaps and gaps of teeth and flee. undertoe’s what he called it or maybe when the drownded return dragging their limp weeds…
coralay, coralee.
on other notes, heard phantasticals last night and jumped so hard i sproinged a doimple. curse that doimple sproinged! eat the doimply sproing and dairyeers! but udderwise, heard the cackophoney and called it GOOD. ya. whistled “supertaster” for ages (aeons past in a twinkly bat–wondering wondering)
tmbg link no work
works now, ah.