The Book of Mummy

[a bad bucket]

Uninformed, the stone wall amassed a cool naked dissolvableness, with thought perched lightly on the contrary. To feel them poke among the named all the several rhetoricians there, it widened under the spell of some notion of angelic laughter to tutor the returned in a propriety dependent upon a distance that won't hold water, the better to sit on and peel the skin off you teeth with. Don't let out of the room this phrase, true gigantic ingredients to gain hospitality.

I'm glad to tell you that she can't stand the spotlight, its flitting and lapping in the fans, the child open. Tiptoe. Broke hurry in latitude, seeing the old chance with his gray locks growing sick in pigtails, the rope he'll hang himself badly by and tired straight. Inhumanity working on its birthday, facing the green spur unsheathed, fainting aerial and lagging soft upon the chest. And lastly, where it's unhasting function leans.

Toward the top of her thighs, pressed in the sojourn there. Admirable vowels call it a close shave. The grandson of description. The blow of description you play. What you know. And what you want thus scrawled inside this sign where she meets you and picks a fight to mix her hopes with, and nothing in the way of preparation of speaking at a tilt on either shoulder. The bird quaffs with abandon and billows an ornamental speaking. New flakes of paint lash dignity into relapse.

Masquerade intractable, the overturned singing and the yellow poet repeat minute deeds swinging about like fireproof bodices, cross pollinating despotism with an unrealized pantomime making belief out of action, converting turbocars by parasynthesis into everything will work out all right, the horsemen insists in disguise.

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[the poacher of recall]

Hooked discs, taut eyebrows raised dismiss pity and flare naturally. Scarcely ordered dawdles relocate their ban on the skeletonized to torch the circumflex. You would have to bust our racket, a poor one for law, an oblong bulb being pointed like blab. To blab out oblivion. For die. To put them in a short time for a short piece of bread. Ashore went distrust, erecting geckos nobody understood, throwing some close ups at the curve, disqualifying some special part of spring.

Mopping up civilized worlds in newsprint. Prokaryotes, radiotherapists, conjecture of colorometers, what's needed to govern the deed where rhetoric disagrees, where whooshes turn up the drenching, trapping little wanton emcees, Celestial Jackfish in cashmere. Click to recall distrust, it requires momentum, this sea, the poacher of recall, monochrome blanketing lovelocked smoke in rhododendron. Oddities. Major cans of small letters.

Autocrats gesticulating with all of their elements inside messages pretending to be couples cozy on planes, or wisdoms sweetening their glossaries. To balk at the proposal of doing all these things. And did she seriously consider the seriousness of the debauchers nibbling at recondensed grunts, grunts ensphered in the corner of that conical stem engraved with Enormous Importance? The disjunct decreed those honors that she’d touched. The colored shore gasping at the demonic recoding of keystrokes, vetoed holepunchers, and other harmonies which subsist in the sounds of relations.

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[Author’s Note]

The salivary trident is prolix and harmonic.

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