Newt Gingrich smoking a cheeseburger is a certain business cancer like a womb of ferrets. Interior, the pepperoni posse. He blamed things. The oaktree near the bottompond blackens alive with a murder, and the yellowing grass continues combing itself out with the wind and back straight into the closet. A tire swing creaks like a knuckle with a shot breast, until a bear the size of a peony astonishes no one with his bongos.
A bird warmed its beaker like a banana
dipped in the glue of apparent bargains.
On Black Friday, the bees arrived and the
Birds made their chemistry set flame like fond dues.
Charliehorse-glue keeps friends loyal.
A raw vanilla deal
sticky-ticklers
a mob of sleeves
honey chemistry napkin.
A feasible bagel of her face cries in the corner, illuminated by smartphones. At once, the shout of honey meets moist in the rib's napkin. I doubt it. Doubt the illumination of honeyface. I've sniffed glues better than all of this effortless joining together.
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