Bad shit, you know it.

I fail my dreams, a blasted word:
I gave up the stars to be a nerd.

Wishing myself to be as kind,
I borrowed patience from a softened mind.

Gay as a day with no respite,
I flee this place, I have no waistcoat.

No one is here to tell what cries
Load the flames with babbling lies.

I do monitor a naval ship.

Starring with Landrieu,
I slip and tip..

Boning my mind with extra release,
Cold as a partner, I'm in decease.

No one needs to hear anymore.
I'm sticking to a wooden floor.



*********************************

Writing free

With a passion I am moose;
With a crashing, I caboose.

As sick and horrified, I mess up.

Called to testify I bend up.

Glowing with power, signs do shine,

I stabilize God with a basket of wine.

Fleeing the cops, I do freak out:,

They want me to live with a flat round snout.

(Hold me please I am a trout),

-- having given up music for an author's gout.

Quick, enable my leaping flight,

I just wanted to say, when will I rite?

No matter where the skies drop in,
Don't let me stay without some gin.

Glittering and flittering all to be
A bitch that runs a winery.

Delight I don't really know
Without a batch of sparkling snow.
 
Foolish sprite
Who must requite

The mood she drew
Wearing the shoe.

A knotted tangle of pain in my brain

I bathe in a chunk of my mom's sharkness:  I am bird death is nut.  Clouds suckers don't even change anything.  For you I will be thought suckered as a dirty word named shit.  It is shit to be another word suckered by a vergb.  Call me a cruel man with no passion for bart, I am here.  I am boring.  I am here.  Thought is a god of peace.  Do not be my thinking for my mind.  Sartre darkened my mind with a road to flowers.  Shit is bart calling darkness here.  War is a flower bashing chaos and death by being sick and flowered with a masturbating clown.

I give you a godd ess sickened with my mind here and God is a bore of my Sartre's anger.  Clouds talk to me like I am flat with possibility, like death parts itself for a moose.  I cannot die with a man in my crack.  Sickened is the drink of a pagan troublemaker ; God talks to me like I am four.

Please be nuts for your flowers; please act like a goddamn pagan for your shame in body.

I do not feel God sickens thought; he merely dies for bodies that are crossed out of my thinking.

It is needed to make God flower like  a man on a trashy land named bore.  Cold and sick are the names of my possibility.  Cloueless sorrow bothers pain with my body.  I wish darkness and its sickness would be thought and darkness without calling dreams poor of my mind.  Change please give me peace.

I love your mind.  I am distant.  I am your thought of my mind.  I wish you would destroy me with a narcotic density taking me three two darkness .  Flat and brooding, I bother you wish landguage.l  Crones die when flat mothers say they are flues to the night of my mind.
]
Can't you understand that humor and fun and laughter and irreverence a re babies?  I don't go there.  I don't love body, because it bothers me to act on my manly darkness, which is to be a flower in the crazy clown sickened with sharks and money.

Four you I am a darkness without peace.  I am a flower with no purty troubles.  I loved my mind; my mind called me flower, sue me for my mind.  I love God for being stupid with his shit in my crackhead drunken orgies.  I feel worse everytime I die with a floweer in my shit.

Poor and troubled I shit here because no one wants to hear from a goddess of a man called share.  Low in the flaming shit is a fman darkly four his own darkness flowering in God's manly troubles.

I rest why here is here top me.  I am a bodtoom called share.  Why do you believe in my passion when I am friendly to those who wish cruelty to make land into shit.

I care about my mind.  I care about the drums.  I care about your life, and you wish me to be another cruel thoughtless dinko.

Why am I a flower?  Why am I you?

Clueless is okay for all.  Is my tincture of manhood.  I wish God was free to be God for my mind.  Then I would love pussy for its darkness and peace.  I have no part in me wich is cloudy.  Good Lovers say they are lovinng because they are treating me like a moose.  Quilting in the dream of a world with no pain is the same as a word knowing its own sharkness.  Flee the darkness, do not become a man without cold language.

I seek you family family family.  Class, group, nation, gender, race, religion.  Sick in my band of boredom.

Quilt my life in a large room without trees, without my mind, without your friendship.  Be Boo, the alterior narcotic density of my bashing thought with a moose's gayness.

Please oh well It bought paper, so many papers I knew they would be breaking their stink into death.

And God darknes stink with me.  I used you to be loving to you.  Is that a hateful dark crooked shit of my mind, or are you thought of a s my mind?  I love your dreams.  Please anser the dream of body -- I got my thoughts in a sinking cranberry tree.  Please listen:  I crave bathing in a land of bob.

Quilt the Light Fantastic

The Ramones a white dreamer shit is not love.
The passion of my mark work is boo.
Flowers sick me I am boo.

Clans with a law don't say they are my mind;
Gwynne rushed to the trouble and saw me a bird.

Laughing for my thoughts sicken me moose.
I gave up party ing; it is foolish to goad lakes flowers boom.

I ran where I was a soft play of my mind as a friend to my possibility:
Quack nails a brain with sore pope.

Gashing the trouble I feel with a card my mind delves into taste poem.
Glower at my mind fallic top is a road to race: cold is my mind trouble is low.

My mind tops the safe moose by going loud for my mens praise.
Interesting to make friends without praise or nut.

Queer thoughts don't live for bodies of a cruel death:
Night pies its nuts to make art a girl possibly flaming and sorrow.

Murder dumb; baby work; bobby bitch; Ingrid tops my macy:

Eee cold is rain; body tops roses; place I know a place whore
Cold is rose:  Class is a raided maker working at leaving police

Tall and marketable.

Allah banding work with me

Socratic laughter is many's top:  Queer stopping here.  Life possibly God.  Drunk as my Mom is with peace, life is teaching me my Mom is my Mom family is alive.

Glowing with a rude top, Sexuality calls itself free.

I drown in my mess:  thought is a friend to frases that are laughter.

Climbing the quorum topping me is freedom.

Glow with a round possible top:  he alive got me failed:  topping it I am murder cold and sick.

That is a hateful softness:  weird I was my Mom.  Topping coldness believe war is dirt charging the pain of my mace with clowns and roses topping chaos and life as a friend to be work.

You sick Julia, bargaining with my Mom about the drugs I wished to do is worse than making drugs for my Mother.

Feelings stop here but no one is alive to be drunk with my life.  I called you fearful; it is trouble to act like I am a drunk.

Fear of clowns utters itself my Mom is here and I am thoughtful for life.  Causing slavery as a rose is a night with no peace.  I drown in flat crones; I am topping work with my thinking which is about my Mom.  I love her darkness is here family is a way to love work.  Flowers suck when there is cold in the diet of my friends.

Shaking down flowers calls for my Mom to give up a man for her rights and her trees.  I see you here, wondering why I thought of my Mother half bothered and half cruel.  I saw her as my dream of freedom to be loving for my Mother cold is not topping white with love.

I flower here with my weary thoughts.  Sick is that which I feel when there is my mind after its sashay topping.

Laughter I love you.  Call me a world of babies.  Call me a thought of my Dad stabilizing friends with a roast drunk called stop it, far is lane of momentary laughter.

The call is to be a hard troubled language such as love is when bothering Sartre with my mind.  He called me free and I knew not what he was.  He was cruel poor dark slave to his dreams.

I wish for my life to stop making darkness and God the way of my mind.  I wish to tell life my Mother calls me thinker of peace; love is words no it is not.  Clay is a surcharge on the Earth's flowers, which desire to associate life and be God to the rapists of their night.

Sickness:  Call it rape, call it murder, call it suicide.  I am not topping laughter with peace because Dean loves me for being rude.

It is my coldness which ends up being loving her who I kindly drink.  Sheer payment:  please safely be a rood and a wore plowing my manhood with shaving strength.

Poosy tops me with her night, it is laughter at kind failure:  I no longer seek andrea as darkness.  Rather I believe my mind is a friend for lies.  Such lies include:  Work is my life; Death is my man; Poor is love.

Queerly, shit is not my minnd.  I sell you one dollar.  And I make it fraid of weren't tapping I loved is it home?

Life is A High Woman

Like a raid dark praise saves the possible pace dharma and you are Dean's druthers.
My ware is a land, work, a poor us, land is taste of moment thought of a good macy dunned argot word is
     pair.
Dome plays a map caused is its fay full rain of roses tons possibly you are night to pained a family with
     Jamie's guns death is a word to me cuz I am my Mom's draining place.

I was lying about my rain:  Gold roses alive be good tossing I am where wise offers life is worth a maybe.

Afar I greet you as a maisie dark with my own tossing flames.  I call you my lace charm.  Quest fame is a
      lame a row hostile to friends with love who are my life.

Cloudy and muddy, the flower created a draw of my bones.  I love family.  Here I am my Mom's taste of
       feelings.  The place I saw where love holly is dean's night.  Please no pain.  I need my Mom here.

Gliding to her friends who flee for the sail I word is a memory called drama fare topped in a cloud I love possible ways to be lank cold is not my dream.

I said my Mom is woman.  She is the dream of my babies tossed where I am I am babies possible with
        peace.

Gold possible is a life of roman as nothing.  I fake is no.  Draining darkness is a person darkness is not
        dreams.  A flame of rough proverbs teach me art gives you my home please is work of my home.

Silly I am a round here, being with my Mom here I am alive it is moose I love wise I am worshipping
        blurs of my manhood tasted by my lessens.

Queer papa was a rolling stone my mother loves me.  Dream I have possibly my own worship of life
        because death is not narcotically lake of breasts and a bird.

Quit saying  where I am I am here.  I am alive.  My Mom dreams of hope.  Clay is love.  I love the dreams
        where shaming is hasty, I do not flower as a man for girls to be moose love.

Estrogen I like is a woman beace drama I am waiting I don't like a word what it is is lanced with a word of
         my drama. Cloudy and flowering the staple laughs because of its rain.  Queer troubles darkness is
         nerd tossing pain for my Mom:  I reason like I am a based drama: Queer is the change I loved well.
         Mice coldly I need you.  My mom is a moment.  Hope is here.

Quake I have no flap of bird.  I am changed here my Mom dons a rail flaming clouds sin is a rose to be
         fay.  I am here.  This fay God is that night of roses that makes freedom here I love you.

THE BORDER

And as wards of rusty target wards of openness,
Pain family grazes my Mom a card.

When plays punk life is drunk as a play with mandarin
trades.

For a lone straw, the entrance of my shaft claims words.

For a man with cool pain, darkness sickens words people war.

Mainly teachers western plays my Mom targets a loud freedom
for its share of money.

Clouds drift causing roses to make me tree, not pain, flower;
And, stashing twins in a flowery place, the love of my mind for Bruce
Kills shit that wants my peace.

The conundrum of fear shot with a crackhead drunk is my mind
Dwindling shoes and brains.

The maniacs cause me a flushed praise:  Why am I alone?

                        *      *      *

Sluice blades marsha dark with a friend trouble peace I was alone
Trust topping queer change.  Clouds family I love you.

Question nerd; kink pink is a hunter possible in a land of roses and steep
Clean hole plank darkness craziness sham poem pain is here.
 
Plow a woman wear beans rite softly talk my mind trees saw me float
By my straw.  Quasi trouble arches from the men I ponder:

Quislings top my land.

She grazes markers facing world toss wave slashing pain changes glow
And I am boobs.  Teach the whole work family creep burden stare

Was that fleecing you?



                       *         *         *

Ein draw, zwei drink, drei brink, fier slink.

Your draw possible.  You see the rushing trouble
Where you are life is land.

Where I am brad stopped trisexual love.

In words a crossed bland harsh darkness says it is lush and pulpy.

                                     TAKE IT ALIVE!

Hello Jamie. Why be good ? Omigod toss off the macy's jar

 What did I do at this place in New York City?  Why give -oh goddess- my mind (a fool) clouds my trouble.  Sickness:  no, cruelty in my laughter  wafting blinking pleading -- wakeup pretty one -- No to you!

Cause of hate cheese murder darkens faked toons.

World of blame slays me; work is fleas on my rose.  Where do they stop?  At clothes?

Night beast her movement crawls down my slow push into thought.

I wildly gleefully trumpet the score is love.

Peace is a wild hobb.it.

Clown marsha is teacher :  I am told.

Fangs and darkness cloud darkness being.

Dwell I am changing for my hostility into a glazed drink of moses and his answers.

Peace is a narcotic bird with no language to feel right.

Quasi softness is none.  Crack is your mind.  Please stop flaming your shaman with pope crane sinking into brazen threads.

You have read tom, begin peace I have no stale being except where plays stop hostile moment.

The control of my mind was here, not I am not trouble please softly I am bob.  Bee.