Friday, July 06, 2007

Il Million

What happened n the normal place of setting? A boom occured.

Many Vingt blocks were gathering the pipes for the occasion of finding a truthful antidote. Not those promised of fuzzy excavations & the drowsy sort of nausea. Treat was the tasty pudding & they fed me my favorite tip of the month. A veteran of the cause pent up in an experiment. Turned out in a hospital room spoon used as a baton scooping butterscotch into the gracious piehole.

Could this be the beginnings of a cure?

"There must never be a cure."

"An antidote might be constructed."

"Hard & hot is how we like it."

"Anointed in smoke."

All during the sleep a figure would appear & push me to the right. Strange how how would stay there. Yes he was one of the mobsters killed & trapped on the threshold to here & the underworld, yet only allowed to travel thru half the year.

"Drinking is my blood."

Watching in a trivial choice. Yes, there is a possibility of various apprehensions. Ergo becoming the medium they wanted to own, have & exert into positions of the ones who love us.

"They really were not who they said they were & we all understood."

Really wanting to compose not just hum over the melody. Doesn't someone want to pay me?

She is looking out the damaged fenster chain-smoking her grief in small slurps of atmosphere. Making nice to get the good side of fighting to survive the constant emotional battle. Why is the solution lacking the major answer? Fights are more brilliant in the day glowing still after the sun set. Pity the options of none. Watching the cresting waves knowing the surface might engulf all the desparate parts of perimeter.

Options of how not to live the life properly.

Why choose darkness over the drab decisions of waking environments? Our trash is the future source of combustion. Our factored lies are the harbor of the fuge. Burning the levers responsible for our sortir. This is the work of faulty communication. Thinking of space & the dreams to overcome the working pointless qualities held dear & now more than distance would combat unholy stance.

Crass talk & rude stabs of the tongue removed the devasting question from the plate of hungry minds feeding on the royalities of heir.

Bonding for the sake of civility.