There’s something so lobotomy about the kitchen table anyway when you add to that a dead woman in the window you’ve got this fake fruit in the real bowl
If this one memory is full it’s just because ditching their own cure aspirin expire without their lithographed insignia the past is wishing for to have been surer of
I do not remember watching this voluptuous smoking octopus dismember living coral with her velvet suction like a pickle stirrer at a college radio free buffet
She floated darkly toward the shore now in the treeline silhouettes of giant horny periwinkles seem to verify that rumbling cherub clouds are threatening Illinois
In general going home is never not some visitor who thinks to head there I have forgotten what should happen to the road when we attack it
Noxious and obscene a heavy blobbing up of ricey Holland Tunnel blueprints where we are returning we drive past the cartoon kings hoisted up with molded ropes
