| outside pounding on a family car inside with our pussy feet we could go somewhere, we could say something the aromatic way you love me; it�s scraped into a Grecian mud mask it�s boiled by asian shaman it struggles against crocodile barricades but still we hide the wrappers, perfect for perfection so stem shavings and sheep herding i held out an arm and inserted myself shrivel and dry, my dinosaur sod... where did he go? what do we do with these now? go on without him, dear, you don�t really want to know. |
| snail machine grannies |