Saturday

months

 For months it was vain. Weather vanes. And rain. Tarnished the roof. Rood of the christ jack bobbin on the tarmac.                  Bucephalus yowling  to stoneed  road rock in her hooves. A cemented dog god for the clogs  ~ 
                                Warning its feet could break anything
 .
Because it was  grief and parrots. Pirates sullen as rose cleavage beggared in the further side. Dawn's best bracken-water. Not a soul able to make head or tails, following their limber. Gibberish to the busted rhum of their tents. Hanging on the high water. Coming over the hill and along flank side of the valley's girth. Bested by the window and the archers . Hoofing over the sheer size of its. Sizar and servant cutting back and the bugler trumpetting her fear. Some cry her cunt to the whole crazed alley.




with a gale coming on no one crowding its pent over dock, and. yes, my darling this's the judo chop of capitalism's last lamb chop.




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Thinking you knew something Jill on the wooden payphone old drug store pharmacy lent to the background of the film's production...