Cosmic Primness

1 November 2014

They settle on me like a dress, or lobby. The more gestures
Manners of an astronaut? The richness comes out eventually.
The close star wood promises being and eternity, but turns
managers. Princess talk turns into legislation; knowledge is
coming out his ears, he digs a passageway for retired hens.
the more there seems to be only one. I’m in the park where

Something grows: a grey primrose. Gamble everything. Head
out it’s the prawn-coloured toothpick in your eye. There’s
a form of poison. A bed of jonquils or a new variety of yoghurt
The fox can somersault for olives for all the lovers care. Perhaps
no one does; the days of a pink moon. We’re all driven together
witch or wicked musketeer trades an apple for a robin’s gear.

no one that you know of in the sky. Serve the ground or the
named after Justin Bieber. Harmony’s when you want different
they were born that way, with the face of Mark Twain reversing
like employees, if this was allegory, or Mass. ‘Oh, art’, galahs
We’re in Disney country, where the pain is so slight it lasts
whisper of a health axe in your mind (a whisper from today’s

things. The old man will be united with the old woman but
from a bush. After a month, maybe. Anyone can walk there.
say, or ‘O heart!’. As if there’s humility in thinking everything’s
for hundreds of years. Colour is another word for coldness
newspaper). When I move a brick it’s like moving a hero’s
this is the icing on the bird’s back. There’s no coast either.

Even in the centre of town there are no donkeys or virgins.
for my benefit. Why else spend years on the toilet reading
I think. Use your judgment. The rogues are at your cheeks.
thigh, or tired dolphin through the forest of apprentice wealth
When it’s safe the sentinel does the rounds. With 7am steam
You try the thing Obama said was bad. A booking for something.

They settle on me like a dress, or lobby. The more gestures
the more there seems to be only one. I’m in the park where
no one does; the days of a pink moon. We’re all driven together
like employees, if this was allegory, or Mass. ‘Oh, art’, galahs
say, or ‘O heart!’. As if there’s humility in thinking everything’s
for my benefit. Why else spend years on the toilet reading
Manners of an astronaut? The richness comes out eventually.

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