Ball smashes scissors and trains engross the soiled rakes (with audio)

"To elaborate your point. What kind of treasures are we dealing with here? Do we have the right to know when we're not some kind of Hungarian anonymity flailing at the goldfish spewed mucus within our pitted eyes? We are twenty-two divided by eleven take 0.5 multiplied by two. Don't try and kill us."

The motorway flies pass me on the M6 like a trail of sustained applause as cars never manage to fulfill anything more than an atonal and invisible perfect cadence,
I sit on the deck chair formed out of nettles and family photos as a brown Russian bear,
Herpes in the ear caressing and gently lulling me to a cellotaped teddy bear.

(Играйте с anenome, пока они не кровоточат)

I walk to my office cube glued together with several strands of a pepperami sausage,
I give the keyboard a haemorrhage like it has thrush pressed between it's white stature and it's black sodomized mushroom skin.

I use a coffee mug as a pencil holder as it were a Balanescu String Quartet,
Maladaptive to the next door neighbour speaking to me in her foetus like tone.

"More squire for the lake inventory rich and filed in twelve pliers?
Crickets on your eyebrows prodding the tenor soprano transplant?"

All is silent when I shove the molten sand cup up the snake as a suppository drenched in leather lubricant.

Feels like velvet rubbed the wrong way.

(my eternal apologies to all that read this but I can't bare to stand thinking about velvet rubbed the wrong way)

This inevitably lead to the straggling sternery of the office passing by the kettle of fish,
These fish were no fish of normality their rhythm was that of adultery:

You know how those stupid structured poems go:

"Duh-dun-duh-dun-duh-dun-duh-dun, Duh-dun-duh-dun-duh-dun-duh-dun"

They just; WOULDN'T. They pigged out on the avant garde rapist menagerie.

It was the:

Plagiarism
(of the)
Abhorrent
Lightbulb.

He was my FUCKING soiled pal.

Molesting ten tentacles,
On the suction of a penis in a pencil sharpener,
Pointy as a button.

And as he secretes the ink which equals of course some dire metaphor referring to a toy book shelf that speaks to me as a pedal note from the squids quadraphonic desk:

"I want to commemorate the fornication of slanted directories approached by the fragile touch of a single tumbled dresser covered in hair."

Coining asphyxiated laymen terms that pretty much stated the terms on top of the inscribed tentacles levied by gangrenous testicles (and they say)

"Фрагментированный (repeated multiple times to the point of holophrastic collapse)"

And now structured as I am pushed towards the printer of the right hand side headphone panning against it's screeching lust for lucidness with pointy pen lids ameliorating the binoculars to their satisfactory levels.

I for one could understand the speaker's vendetta against me like the squid to the swordfish hurdling in his envy at the phallic nose-shape directed by the eyes like an unopened glasses case opened up:
Then down.

As it starts chattering to me wound up in a timer like the rattled teeth

"Yes I agree with your entirety"

Oh really?

"Oh yes, there is simply no oar without an ore mine to carve into the tree the initials that you still heart someone to a plastic garden table."

"Then please pray tell why you insist on generating a stool of a mangled cat's nose that has been dried by the friction of supple raisins?"

"The...physiological; balance if you will is not the general until the bonzai tree is nipped and tucked to sheer Venus perfection."

(Increase decibels/lower gap between each time)

"You are aware that the curves on a coke bottle are produced to seem more womanly so that people are more likely to buy it? Does that not show our promiscuous desires to plastic prostitution?"

"Again eyed by the Geordie I can't seep into a nice warm cork bottle dress to hide the digital camera in the my Duracell calculated carcass of severed plectrums."

(Irony ensues as the voices inevitably grow to become as prominent as the infinitely dimpled chin vomited into the wren's sleeve)

Eyes opening with tin foil shielding the lenses,
Methodological skies covered in collages made by children from reception class,
A nice tapping on the window from your neighbourly egg throwing vandal,
until descent.

Staff thrown and drawn,
Twenty tents severed to our syntax thrown into a cleaver purposely made for a wooden spoon.
Tissue earthquakes corroding the setting of the table unto silence,
Pentagonically I slowly forebode into the doll hat pretending to be bo-peep.
My sheep are those that wish to lick my staff an ammonia flavoured rust.

(and thus the fragmentation returns with the purpose of poking constantly at the face of the unwanted opal)

All I needed to be alive from this was to hurl my lunch into Chester Zoo and watch the apes fight.

Are you not aware that we are more similar to Apes than Hares are to Rabbits?

As far as,
My job inside a hurdled Hobbesian society sits.
I'd much rather scrape my tunnel of all light,
If only semen wasn't so bright,
And sticky,
Of course.

[[Silent Sanskrit]]

If we really need any harm in our pale necklaces,
We should disallow all humour and obstinate unto a single header,
The words will read "You don't want to be a part of my seeded hand;
Covered in dry raisins that were left in a dirty puddle.

Why should leaves object to the trucks snogging them with fumes?

Why should balls object to the compost covered rake?

Why should I fucking even look at a man in the face when his eyes are as bald as a bollard?

Why do...