Digging in the pop-rock dirt as the many embers of the taunting coals that
inches away towards clarity silver lightning through a wire reaches golden wheels.
Time spent like pancakes shopping at Acme's ulta-mind-meld, like Charlie Rose's punk band playing Stairway to Manic Recession.
The micro-gasoline flavored Tastykakes drilling holes in Eric Stratton's word proccessor only to wake the dreadlocked Doberman Pinscher.
Let the silken refrigerator hold its torch of freaky colored future.
Please tell me what you think
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it will take me the rest of my life to understand this.
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