February
Friday 18 July 2008 photo 2/3
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Then, brothers, it came.
O bliss, bliss and heaven, oh it was gorgeousness and georgeosity made flesh.
The trombones crunched redgold under my bed,
and behind my gulliver the trumpets three-wise,
silver-flamed and there by the door the timps rolling through my guts and out again,
crunched like candy thunder.
It was like a bird of rarest spun heaven metal or like silvery wine flowing in a space ship,
gravity all nonsense now.
As I slooshied, I knew such lovely pictures.
There were veeks and ptitsas laying on the ground screaming for mercy and
I was smecking all over my rot and grinding my boot into their tortured litsos
and there were naked devotchkas ripped and creeching against walls and I plunging like a shlaga into them.
O bliss, bliss and heaven, oh it was gorgeousness and georgeosity made flesh.
The trombones crunched redgold under my bed,
and behind my gulliver the trumpets three-wise,
silver-flamed and there by the door the timps rolling through my guts and out again,
crunched like candy thunder.
It was like a bird of rarest spun heaven metal or like silvery wine flowing in a space ship,
gravity all nonsense now.
As I slooshied, I knew such lovely pictures.
There were veeks and ptitsas laying on the ground screaming for mercy and
I was smecking all over my rot and grinding my boot into their tortured litsos
and there were naked devotchkas ripped and creeching against walls and I plunging like a shlaga into them.
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