Hells bells and buckets of odd storytelling waving crescendos of peas; mind blown blind to the never ending relief of no time to mention
Squeezing tweet following big log of adventurous reed wrenching piteous creeks.
River flown a wing of passion troubling the grease proof decision to cook minestrone in bread crumbs must be messy at least at the weekend;
Befriend a good kitchen collector of shredded cabbage on pastrami and rye
Near a yellow taxi on cooking oil running all weekend to pay the pastry bill to melon man
The paltry looking fellow who shelves tesco’s filler for a night shift rather than x-box the other for the weekend.
Screwed up forehead answers the door and backs into a corner waiting to be attacked by someone who no longer is in the shadows but long passed into cosmic wondering,
An abuser still abusing the dead in the river but immersed in universal DNA to plunder in part with new believers who keep the estrangement alive in the shared misunderstanding.
Week plastic bottle meanwhile crumples at the thought of pressure into insoluble mass of waste a mash of particle insensitive to vibrations.
However the creeping memories, black and absorbing suffocate the freedom in tightly pressing thoughts that delude the delusion to dramatic imagination.
Three owls on white card hoot a smooth brass resin to woo the other rodents for the catching.
For a moment the strain is relaxed only to return to grip and drain the life from hope.