by Brian McCloskey
Why are you lying on my blanket? I can’t figure out where her head would. And a messy apartment which may or may not contain a chicken. A social worker who can fly and generate intense blasts of heat and flame. Slightly sweet, slightly tart. Then, shouldn’t you be wearing the bucket? The skin of a robot vibrates with pleasure. Love makes all things possible. Cats represent wild sex. A lot of questions on hunting and testicles. I’m losing my perspicacity. Especially underwear that is red and maybe has a few diamonds in it. Passion, obsession, someone you can’t live without. None of them really care whether you get any sugar or not. Don’t fold the maps. They put you alone in a room with a dead horse. He moved into a motel and the cat eventually died. A pair of stockinged legs, light glossing over silk over pearly skin. You’ve got to learn to clear your bubbles under combat conditions. I think you can reach them yourself. Right now it’s a vehicle for a man. If it weren’t for my horse, I wouldn’t have spent that year at college. I like picking beans with grandma. Do we now have the same number of apples? A bra is for ladies. Nothing bounces like a phony turkey. No doctor would put that on his car. Why are you running a motel for goats? The dog is green. You try skating and blowing into a jug while your heart’s breaking.