Samsonite Luggaged at the Airport
What would you do if you realized that you had all of the limbs necessary to penetrate the thought patterns of a genius who knows nothing about common sense but everything about the ethereal nature of exotic misgivings of neandertholic mantra writing poets?
Why else would a lumbering tornado suffer the qualms of a geeky sordidness? Due to a fluke of quixotic somnolence?
j
4 comments:
Qt messn' wit' my thot pattrns
I was there and saw the whole thing but I'm sworn to secrecy
erotic and quixotic in the same prose. Neurotic!
do you know what's green?
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