That biological fetus

fig.245) Barely thirds, figures behind the secret of all things at once (x2)

"Goodbye," says the wet man. "This womb is mighty big. It's been a singular sack indeed." These are not the times of us so much as the place where the clockwork fails. The house is a'clatter in shifting gears and torn fabric. All of the tools of modernism have finally blinked and so goes the glass.
Gender is a lean and wary host, it's a comfortable friend, and the scary story on this broken bus out of town. It's a biologic frame with long social tendrils that delicately obscure the face of the hosted. We are blind, the sun has made us up. We are guilt with chance and dumb fingers too. The bath of my moment in the day of my job. It's around the corner, Hi-Ho! O' Ho, the superlative mange. Trust is any blanket that puts out all the flame.
Blue house with an orange dot behind the shrubs, it's a calculated risk. There's an Arthur C. Clarke novel in my back pocket. It's thin and sweaty. The pages are well dogged and they're very stained. I've been raking these leaves in the sun for hours and man, do I feel ripped inside. I've got abs on my abs as the cars roll on by, "That's right baby drink that cola hard."

"There's a playlist, it's all David Lee Roth and Rush. The perfect blend of Karma and Us and Them that will take it all away. I know you like that stuff by Air Supply but you're killing me. This isn't a damn submarine race. You have to fall into it. The whole thing is sweet as shit."

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Totem

Tonight is old. It's wett but current and bored. I'm watching nothing but stars in the often sky that happen... do... tonight is lame like old, young like song, even as blue... Equal after the sun, noon or scripted yellow you are to me... A we (as sound)

Songlet is Best

fig.0231) FizzGraf MT. "Magical, like a chorus of like minded souls in a froth of cotton fumes." Over fake doors, under refurbished ladders, gypsum board and bent yellow pipes offering us an unmade bed and a stained window. Our one chance at tomorrow. Magnetic guts from at least a thousand cassettes are strewn across the room. Hee-Haw style, fancy dress shoes cling to the floor like it's '86 all over again. Hee-Haw, goes the sound. Hee-Haw, we're closer then we were. Hee-Haw, it's hilarious. Listening for trains, leaning out over the rails like two people with no time at all. Better maps, that's what we need. We could use a melody for singing with this chorus; in whose curious presence more patients wait to be found. With hands over our heads, someone passes by and asks, "gender?" There's stars in this sweet tooth of mine and some atoms left from the sky, Tonight the whole angle of heaven sleeps without light. Ordering its coffee darkest, t

Whiskers, chanting, "swap me, swap me!"

Fig.32) Aging poorly We're just together, taking ourselves for a tidy sum of walk and now our toes are wet and cool in the Lak, beside a cool stone that could drive a modernist to their flint. There's a listening experience that feels prepared, "our's for now, ours it says! Here's the hammer and it's wrapped in its own design already. A union in time-space, this card is our greetings, our massive, our very patience is reflected in this resolve." Suddenly, there's a cut away and she's wearing the pants that I've made for her, slow blue like painted smoke . I'm thinking about her hunched over the kitchen table, something that's stuck. There's a carving knife in her hand but from here, it's the same as an old spoon. From here my computer is sitting on my guilty seat, I'm thinking about champagne and comparing it to a thick wad bees and wondering whats in it for me? It's an anxious season, filled with not enough of anythin

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