VICTIMS OF THE BOTTLE
Victims of the bottle and forecast lanterns
blushed when they heard her fingernails were refined through silk.
Emotion was implicit in holsters
slung round my friend and delightful each morning,
For a solution we bandaged them in enamel.
Examining the atmosphere was a thirsty, skinny male.
His hairs were anything but light from frosty mist
sleeping on top of Karen Finlay.
My childhood training had taught me
that I had emerged from the bottle with a short soak in former days.
I have stolen everything from the structure
which tolerated your prissy studios,
your darkness, symptomatic of the hookers.
I wasn't a furnace, contemplating the spectrum.
None of the racks of absorption are painless.
After six years he hadn't been brought back out to fall for the music.
They really didn't need illustrious visitors now,
nor would they find a Parisian lunatic asylum,
female orgasm nor the content of lesbian bodies.
The captain barks orders to take in women's nature.
My friend's urgent message of barter,
leads his helpers away from unkind dispositions.
My friend does not explain any image of sunlight and compass
with a wave about ten times faster,
thereby reinforcing the historic importance of filtering jars by another genius
resolved to implement policies ensuring the source in the "Here"
It could lead to the concepts so long now perceived
as less complete foreknowledge of reinforced cohesion,
ensuring a common footer of phallic silicone simulacrum.
The wild wolf roams ,
but this is a history of somebody determined to identify their present pledge
developed between the feminists, who make them today.
Their opposition, in effect, concerns surrogate motherhood,
longing to promote peace through credit cards.
The number of your fussy bourgeois sitters
and the phone bills -
parts of a mind-freezing mirror -.
give a watery luminescence.
Shoes were supplied on her birthday.
Lights play music, making it capture necessary exceptional regard.
I still retain, by comparison to her sultry drawl,
excellent abrading powder
which I have been getting from late-night movies.
The deepening darkness
cupped inside my revered cosmos,
grants them vitality.
It is recounted on an important-looking page marked WARNING.
© GERALD ENGLAND
Composed: Gee Cross, 13th June 1993
1998 Target (UK)
Flowers at Fleetwood
2 months ago