We
made some drawings of the volume lengthwise.
There
was a typewriter key in the sweat.
What
of the resolve that curtains us into a solid trope.
I
see him loosen what's moist,
and acquire a mute pathos.
"That",
says Kazimir Malevich, "makes a soap man."
On
an island of noise, attach
the
sockets to a mucuslike substance.
But
what are these wooden pipes on the floor.
Points
of beforehand in Deanna's basement.
In
the end, though, I came out on the square.
He
said it was white and felt cheerful.
Our
smooth shapes angled off in flakes of noun breath.
They
have the inner beats.
Seems
Tim swam off, forming two domes, whose crystals had dislodged.
Put
literally the cylinder seems to striate the flicks.
The
box that holds it has a burly dynamism.
A
sausage-shaped ball roosters about this.
In
constructing it, what I say breaks
into heavy props.
Basic
plastic strain exhausts artistic feeling on the roof.
So
language, stopping, creates a square.
My
sharp eye out, the size is no break, it words the interstices
and creates a split.
That
chairs be ladders, each chair rescuing a flake.
Chet
bakes the fast eye.
It's
ridiculous to gargle the lance.
Miss
Betty fit the armband, paints, bird mask and a powder nucleus
into the stem.
As
butter spins so does the powder arm
against the scape.
Space
rebounds from the brink to be gendered.
By
the time I get there they have built a new bridge.
The
spilt hope of a writing is taken as payment.
She
farms the silhouette and I rain.
A
gentle person blunts the efficacy of this tool, throwing himself instantly
both back and ahead.
The
brief world peels an alto.
Her
sister slowly added a radio to the place and watched the redness of
moments
but would not participate.
The
thought behind it makes a non-balloon on which the feelings
are rung.
Chances
are his chair, the sky is the plate, to tune among.
Of
course anything can be used to sling shit but the larger structures
are generally more full
of it.
They
clutch up each around its own excremental figment.
The
rabbit has perfected a flag.
A
pencil that big will bore the Martians.
It
hefts an ego, or a testicle, or both.
He
came to, a sky or hole.
Evidently
thought was tolerated into runs back past the established wedge
of consensus.
Then
an addition dates his grasp, something uncertain sort of parallels
the attributes of technique.
In
the heat of something mid-afternoon additions
write up.
Awkward
meanings settle beyond the contracts.
I
began to smell the set holding sound itself like a stick with the
hat on it.
Onlookers
are not always sure if the man in the street has
been indoors.
Work
flung some distance from a shoe was in
the hills.
The
remaining white says put.