This is called "Gawker."
You are toilet head.
No, I am toilet head.
You are moose.
Your hose is a moose's silver hose.
It goes into the garden.
God's mad, everyone out.
We sniff glue.
I have a medium sized White House in my sperm.
We can't decide who to sue.
You are not moose, exactly.
Because your mother wasn't.
Allowances have to be made, like when the new recruits line up,
backs to the big ass light source.
Are they angels or snakes?
Sometimes, they were rain at sea, the monogrammed elastic.
Closer, closer.
Things get out of hand.
An affidavit, thrown into a bush.
So long ago, the bush burns it.
Rain helps digestively.
A red-wing blackbird dies.
No one will forget.
No, did and shouldn't.
The fact to you, to no longer moose.
How does it feel to be the biggest
marsupial in North America?
Like you're about to be killed?
Would your sister's vaginal opening welcome me?
Not that I'm asking.
For a talking non-moose, you don't say much.
I like that in chairs, too.
Everyone else is a fucking liar.
Look at their root hairs.
Their briefcases full of yum-yums.
But here is a parking sticker.
It makes you an emeritus.
There's so much to love in this world,
I forgive you for feeling you're about to die.
I cannot be your golden bra.
Let's get drunk and break stuff against each other.
How many African gods fall out?
Let's form insignia.
People will think we've been to war together.
Parts of the map will make us sniffle.
Parades will make us moan.
A moan is the moon pulling something out of you.
You owe the moon a lot.
Payback time.
Look at the sea, mooning.
Have a havoc.
Now is the time for our evacuation.
I mean the occasion.
The big dictionary is our Grand Guignol.
I am feeling interstitial.
Let's catch up on your correspondence.
Simplicity of structure and lucidity of phrase
permits a vastly disparate tonal array.
Or something.
What other explanation for the rainbow?
Forgiveness is the puppy in our parlor.
Here comes the snow.
Would that it would never end.