democracy blue coarser chocolate valleys
pop pink
from trumpets in their pockets,
pledging four and five dingus pots
on your leg when driving
electricity burns your back to a black suit
flowing where her legs don't prop them
up and out like eggmen and eggheads
topping pork from their forceps
four and five dingus flowers
pledging gold rings,
nails grew too long
but karats cut their blood and sugar
boiling parties.
Rain and sun don't run for mortals here.
shattering the noses of cars
raises a stump to hang you from,
turning your head to drink and kiss the room,
a leg, a letter, a safety cone of hair.
shoulder cycling disposable water
from the rooster on the wave of wood.
you have got one good song until you cure.
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