by Brian McCloskey
Still, this I believe: there are walls, and then there are walls. Scintillating flames in the vision, reaching down or crawling up. But the sheer fact of hosiery is sexy in and of itself. Horses who just want to sit under a tree and look at a cloud. In smoky bluish depths, the mermaids wish. I was almost half way to making tights for an octopus. Other universes stack up. Rain bounces back into itself from the road. I feel drier and less damp in opaques. It makes sense as they were slightly transparent and at certain angles I could see my knickers through them! I prefer shape to skin. My friend watches chicken embryos form their hearts. The white tights! Better to carve waves in grieving space. I have to be knitted back together. Makes you wonder what the one in green tights did to make someone angry! In an Albanian's sense of paradise. Plastic duck, the flute that's rusted. Conjugations of spoons in the refectory. Flashing and flashing, ejecting their sperm into the sea. Hey...does my penis look big in these tights? Its frozen magma a squat imperial throne. The tiny smudge of a dog sleeping. In a nutshell wear the tights. I know there isn't that much difference between tights. Possession of a stolen shovel. Your fur shines with a halogen brilliance. Do you have a garment that you're just dreaming to find? We love about time is what we love. It's up to you whether you want the spiders on the front or back of your legs. None of which addresses the bread people.