Look at me now, so olde

So ready to go

 Shattershapes

Erupt like a ragdoll left in the mud,

Weird smelly cherished 

Taken care of, in every way

Toss out, games done, rotten eyes

Pull off little organ, night serrated

I collect the ending to prove our guilt.

Must be odors, Float away;

Have a yellow-filled Birth;

Wriggle in the pine Plank;

Try to mean anything. 

This is a rime song.

This is a rhyme song, blowing kisses to the merchant factories, I explore the meaning of meaningless. Ships spell themselves under the matchsticks, and I forgot to explore the F**** (focal) points and feelings. I cannot match this foolishness. Why are we happy to go to sleep when the bombs fall on the children of creeps. They fight no one's birthright. Happy, giddy, little wise men give their own tickles to the pig pen - soups cry on morning doves and know that single women are epitomes of single loves. How can we remind us of life beyond the single meaning of worry and time, going further to find. Why have we created this kind

Of [a] Mind, today.

Al Timider

 I went to America with my son, Robin Hood. I was a dairy farmer from southern Senegal. I'm a chunky hunk in a Jamba juice. Help me heal the sick and tired and weak and missing.

 shriveled aborted seeds known as 'chicken tongues'.  Since the floral flavor is lost in the process of canning, the fruit is usually eaten fresh.[11]

These fruits typically have a higher price, due to having more edible flesh.[10] 

Some cultivars produce a high percentage of fruits with 

Quietly The Sun drove to Mini mart.. 

Why are you sleeping underneath my brake petal? I push you down further like a snow-capped reminder that lives inside the blue and purple cream pie fluff

That dances on your eyebrow once in a blue fucking moonscape.  

They derail and deride, and they capture the moments with electric holders. 

They pinch their nipples with grace and tact. They watch the lightning bolts attack their pupils. They explode like lanterns being thrown from the top of the Kremlin, when they explode in Saint Peter's square. They make themselves known all across the internet and the world wide web. 

My snow is dripping through my chest hairs. They make room, the space between the subatomic particles, [ a good soul. ]

 It gets all liquidy in the quarks' faces. They try to peel off and extrude. How can my remembering Head go further than it used to go?

 I want the Sun to explode, and it tastes like the center of the string cheese. Peanut butter has been rotten for at least 1 week, and it's starting to taste like vinegar and mushrooms, under the soil so healthy that Linley can stick her whole hand in and remove and shove the whole damn Into her Mouth; it is tasting just like a kindergarten penny, and grabs the whole history of the Cosmos and the creator of eternity.  He will

 Shape my afterlife with the cool blood and wild snowy climate is ripping off the droves

 Of queens who climb up my team. it's cold and windy. Looking forward to the meaning.

[ It's evening. ]

 Bring it back and lower it into the exactness.

 I predict this as it happens.

Gyms

 Dustin lifts 45 pounds with his left five pound arm. He watches Jolene walk in the ringing glass door. It is 7:45 at a small stripmall in Columbus, OH. The sky gets dark or light, the weather warm or cold. We are the mirrors and the grey clouds and the peeling fake leather and the yellowish foam peaking out.