W H O L L Y T E X T S

 

WOODEN GRAVES FRESH IN THE SPIDER WALK

     I chill my infernal Ass in the fire of my own mistaken dental plan. Terms and conditions of Oshkosh's bizarre and dinky exhales,
a poet and his shocking slanders, Toots and Sweet! A ding is equal to the last holy Mass of Justine/a new adrenaline for the sinking tit
deception. George Adamski has the open midscreen tumor down pat.
I spurt the alien future of Albert Einstein's virgin mother, creations
within Eternity's monkey-mind/IT'S TIME/more than ever, freeze.
Kiss everything once!

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