The pets are with the vanilla company.
Every sentence implies dissent.
A grain is the smallest particle of madness.
In Fayetteville they have a lavish toilet.
I am standing on the grave of the Kardashians.
There are prizes but no achievement.
In this country the ideas of space and time are plastic.
The toad who puffed himself to the size of a cow.
The crepuscule comes like a distillation.
Analogies are demons.
They have perpetuated inequality and discrimination.
In the city there is solitude.
Puddles and rooftops.
The variable distance between sentences.
I have tried it many other ways.
This one feels right.
A kaleidoscope of shrapnel, exterminations.
The senator from Kentucky fired at me and missed.
I fucked his mistress.
An intern made up of contiguous states.
Does this belong to somebody?
A girl cigarettes behind the library.
Black and bronze stars.
Random as weather.
Whoever invented it, it is ours now.
When we interpenetrate, we are liquid birds.
Are the names of God his attributes?
Or are we kidding ourselves?
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