ITS ILK OFFENDED
is it tapped yet. all my stroll designs were stolen by a tubelaugh. ilk is offended. and rich below the
earth. winter nuggets are powered too intimately, where once crimsonhead coiled
into pinnacle crying: spit, spit, motionless, spit.
dont read in domes. dont spice howling. and, please the owl, store the owl racked
on beauty pills. I had no idea there could be that many ice before the lush fell into us. and a rivet
could slice loose into tongue, remove the tongue, disgust the omen of the naughty
pond. four naughty ponds wriggling pieces of jade. tumbling the jade and quacking spells. fruit
spells. arugula magic spells. fruit and the dream of infinity magic. swimming across
the naughty pond I feel a slime brush my foot, growl, I am bursting with forgot.