Flirting with boredom. Cleaning only one part of the room. Zoning out to the point of numbness. Conveyor belt mishap. Long joke, no payoff. Purist, pure piss. Postures out to pasture, grazing and gazing. Amassed clutter from the unclean part of the room forming an antenna. Burdensome leanings working with you and their seedy way into tawdry fabrics.
Kiiiiing shit size! Not looking askance but closing rolled-back eyes to blithe-ass beats. Burdensome leanings, failings, slip-n-fall-schoolings…
Bits of filament. The can of air in your hand, the bag of holes, the purposeless gall. King shit on a crimson shingle. Courtyard silence and pennies for thoughts. No fountain. No fount of information. No spew. Not a stutter. No broke neck loose flesh shudder speed. No fever reducer.
Milder nights are calling. The ceiling floor congealing with us and dabbling inconsistent. Congratulations out of order, flights of fancy current. Crescent moonbeams. Crooked slicing curvature. Bracing shapes. Get bent elusive charms.
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