High-pitched Battle Sequins

Flapping in the wind,
orange rind sun setting over shangri-la,
fa, a long long way to settle a score over a barrel of nutmeg.

Pale-face, I come for the tom toms and the jerry rigged periscope.
The pirates failed to claim them, ergo, thus hence, betwixt I and the Midianites it shall be shared.
Glazed pottery is on the market, carnage and salsa on the menu no more.

Warcraft, May-basted taters.
Laser Floyd.
Haematoma.

Feel-up for fealty, buck-o-nine.
How do you generate a market craze? simple.
cripple the five-dollar bill-teat.

welch ca-dance

;alngo8y2://

tells anonce:
once around the poesy

terror bull pointings left our new contracted painter without a patron saint to justify wrigley existence tantamount to new colorful tents pitched in the honor and name of said goalie becoming fight highest.

his was a drug cartel
hers was a mountain of evidence
theirs was a troubadour sickly without mourning quickness
ours, a completely different story which i will iterate henceforth:

"years before we figured out the plan, our willingness and tact was to take it straight to the heart of the beast, knowing little of the uninterested exhale possessing deadly powers of coercion. there was a psion counted among the trusted numbers of 'us,' luckily...thus."

of course i subscribed immediately - simultaneously and unknowingly canceling my plans to visit far reaches of their grey folds. while felling trees at an alarming speed, i brought neither galoshes nor slicker nor parasol - for this was a special gig...this required moxy. i wasn't as ashamed as my dear quail brothers until i saw the look on our collective face, for the mirror had finally shown it's own and indeed, the mirror, was a face itself.

with the puzzle solved and no more confusion created than destroyed within one cycle of 'the process' i returned to my quarters and slept quite soundly.

this year, 440355
-gerald hilder

She wore the Questers nap tin

"Downsize that malaria quay!" he screamed among the ghastly Bester products. It's the atomic man and his bib.
From atop the balcony I buy their window dressings:

Twas nightfall and I had kelped my drawers.
Rather she had knelt for cords.
It was tide and mary; cheers and gary...We had all the grapes for nape season.

"Behold this blister and wind! I have the can for sire," our guide was perspiring amid the autumnal yak procession.
Four horns met amid the sheerers' tire stare
Care for gentle clippings and the stone throw weighs its part for craft sales; I deemed our crowd fit for mathering.

It's a duster in thine parts with undulating topography
We had heard the chasm queens were ovulating; we opted for the Halal.

Polish curative curtains?

I walk up and down,
and finally crown the old battalion. they canter off into the forest.
Retrieve the stream's hairpiece.
Two piece for the toupee,
ransom for a handsome work of furry art.
i pull out the slowly turning burlap sack,
the magical latch firmly embedded in its unworthy furls,
fling it in an instant on the unsuspecting burly-cavalry (who in the meanwhile are growling and rearing their horses up a foot or two for no apparent reason)
i scream, "I, your benefactor,
swindled near a windmill,
clog-Baron of the world i be,
story of old I claim for my own grown oats."
They bow, clown car emerges from the forest, a highly tanned Cher steps out.
"Off with it."
and everything vanishes into thin air,
but for the toupee and me.
Stuck together in lovely oblivion.

It was a Spray Town cameo -or- Gerald Ford's Taurus

Vulnaria's drifter. She wore them skirts like a mulch mart garden sale.
"Oh Johnny Taro," I said. "Whisper me softly like a far catched bari."

Swoon that horn valve whisks the ol' tune
For Samuel Gompers and the ACLU
I keep speaking tensely to that old saloon in Geronimo Bay
But me knees are weak and deavered as the Scottish ales' bale hay and belfry bribes neckties
Or Earl's Barron.

"I ate the last Tombstone bread sale," she cried murkily in my tong fort.
No that's tongue fort in these here high glade ever-claws. These sharp eyed creatures are drifters; vagabond and marmalade arrangement bins...
Kind of like those Baby showers and confetti ordway fares at the 2 pint off sale.

"Hey canasta I know your writer types my mills 'cord for arrow shares.'"
"Ode to mime your hammers. That ace is bandaging my harpoon for ham sandwich lent..."briskly

(Baggage claim 8 will feature negligee of the US Airway collection)

"Scream sharply and you'll get the grunge."
I Play my Lawrence Welksters amid my jugs
A hollow taste of honey for your Cold Stain and Better jetties,
That's my thoughts for Urbane and witticisms.
Oh that tart has your USA chart's stopper:
"I advise four quarts for a healthy shepard's pie; the meal part costs extra. And mind your mittens or I'll snarl atch you."

Please allow for tic-tac recollection fits,
Keep the orange...Save the knavers.