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.