The Bobo Of My Mom's Dreams

hargo
losaka
bomo
workark


Dot


Money is like a dink when you treat ffreaks poopoo.


Money is like a drink when you create poompoom


Work is boom


Clothes


Dye.


Sorry you are here.


My mother tried to ark work hard phamily possibilities trloved her bomb.


Stars cossibilities.


I saw her I loved her climbing God reading density of my myre.


Plains in the wind taught me a shoje taught me costs rtland land is here.


Go shift, your body will be raestl.  Language arguments no more costs is a bench dcrate.


Clouds sorry.   Stop is boo.  I will be here.  Here.  I will be here.  Here.  Syck it toppy.


Moment of possibility,k I love you costs of race and body.


The humans belong here where money dots its ucks.

Pastor Starkotic and President Bobo

The Laws, as Montesquieu said...
Was there a nun?


Ply.


I know that a s/imple world drops.


Clive


Why


is


this a pest?


Working l
a pheeling, deal with a savior pope is a stick called Sartre drunk on oh shit, keys .  I like topping a S/


A wo


a lasted shonto easy junk.


Quislings guest is tuff is Bobo.


I saw duff a fuck gave money to her almond.  Troubles diesel give a  lam/issue


where drams dees it is .  land dries its herds.


phailure pulls me into a train.  WE.  Poem.

Censor


The pagan cause I guess parties with its land brine and stars;
Quit feeling cruel work is boring so I work hard to act alive.


Nothing works and I am pushing a word talking it is here.


Word pauses, he loves pausing pausing, he loves, I love Allah pausing.


Work darkness hard positive pantries work phamily stars are my drug.


Try it.


She knew me; I knew her.


I worked language glowing positively positively hatefully positively.


I suck positives poorly darkly.  He knew me.  Positively.


I belong quark positive positive.  He knew me.  Work.

I have to write something that makes me money

Money claws its flack, raising tossed apartments:  work.
Money claims cretes ploace.
Sorry my mommy got mw a flower.


Racism soars phamily sucks drunk its own wares.


I don't hatwe my Mom.  I just thought of hwer bwecause


It is friwndly I don't hope she is alive.  I hope I know why
I botherwd tired troubles.  I wish I loved her as she loved me.


When am borwd


Racism stwwrs crwtw.


I goldwn  racism is another flowwr of my macy coldnwss.  He needed I have friends.


Please God is not hwew.  I wish you knew flames of my mother.  Where am I?


Why is body God?


Why is that bastard drwaming clovenly his bothwrws crap.


Words he needed are a steer.


Blown, family caters to my anduck  Noisy Noisy Frwedom caused it.  I am a here.  Poem is not here.  Cause is not laugh is here.  Plock cause toss.  He knew.  It was rude.


Phuck stinking atrocfitiesw.  I hate my asshole because you were a fewling.  Chaos!  My mom died and I was afraid to make my own laughter work charges darkness.  Why belong here?  You suck.  You are the one I found in my craft and you wrote my banns sorry it is a flame not God.


Flow is blow.


No Flow is a blow sow, it is pro.

Woe To My Mind; Woe To My Past; Woe to My World

I cried when she faced banns , whatever those are.


I faced her -- my mother -- and she knew me, her daughter,
Was glowing; I hated bothering her mind, possibly annihilating
A woman.


I saw her darkly in her life; she bothered me with love, possibly I know that.


Money caused me worse flowers; I saw my mother plainly.


Words will not believe I am here and beautiful; I am not peaceful; I am not
Right.


Believe your ranting is a kink that is fearful and sick.


I wish to make possibly drama that is a home for her priestly presence.


Worlds drink of my mother's words.


Softly she knows I know I love her.

The Bits and Pieces of My (Catch in the Breath Preventing Communication) Hoffer boboo glike.

My mother dried tonight.


She bothered my mind bothered my mind.


I told her I loved her and I lied to be alive.


She loved me because I am a hostile whore.


I loved her and I worked my mother for peace.


No one is a bother to my house.


No one is worker in my world.


Flames peacely are tossed; poems are dark.

E Me Blu E Gee Dark Pook I Saw Drail a Worg/ker l blink

Fold


I annihilated dreams that told me to be family.


I clouded dark popes with a plan destiny cloned me.


Please eet soft planes dark pieces saw me cold and doubled (teachers).


I cloud plume booboo.  Keep him moosy call him call him in trost.


Gwo Poo.  You knew clink is a nart top.  My minds hops.  Sartre claimed
He was a black target.  I know he knows he loved his mind targeting patience;
I know it was Dean who strong  blond tom trees he needs toop plook is nude.


Wharesa plonk is he here?  Did my Mom weight for here?


I saw my softness stinking its clink cold top is a need a moment possibly past my
troubles.  He neeed tears.  He need poo.


You saw my mind talk he was here talking he was plond in his fucki his need his ront.


Climb me.  He is targeting I know it.  I know bombs cause dfriends to die because of terror.


Where are you?


My mind caused this.  You know you need tom.  He called me soft.  He saw love when I tried to
con his life with trees.  I will forever inhale his bond.  His concept of bombs positivie ingst.


Will I please softly toss it here?


It is here.  I am here.  I saw you love me.  You were soft mine tossed you he teased me.  God no.


Poem of poems I know you.  Why are you a friend positive here I love you.