TIM EARLEY

 

                                     



TANGENT OF FAMILIAR PROSTITUTION THE SKY GOD CROONS WITH A MACHETE IN ONE HAND AND STUMP BROKE SYLLOGISMZ IN THE OTHER.


Peculiar joy of peasant choices.

Ride the tree to immaglum.

Furry things claw at my breeches.

Sexpool broad and groat.

I throw a hook into the mouth of a star.

Inside it catfish spool out like prophet-beards.

The one boyfriend was an inserter.

The other manufactured his own gin.

The other threw his annual offerings in the direction of the palliative effects of memory.

The other was all affect, all ascots, all aporias, all evanescent rilling forth after a parchment of groovy bass notes.

Troweled the river bottom where all their faces bloomed into minnows.

Saggy rifts of flower meat.

Circular playhouse excrement and thatched mosses greening.

A dog is satisfied with summering maledictions.

Warshed in beer Thursday night got live.

I tattoo you speedily as the air.

How subtle the character that cannot survive its faciality.

Basics of abjection motif.

I have been confused by an arrow.

Mary Starnel’s bees hum an eternity that is not, wings, wings, wings, starproof, emulative reconstructions of the town that skinned Filch like a livery goose.

Mog-lice.

Oak tap my devil.

Sorley boy shape a fig.

A bird is not a dulcet of horsepower.

A rapture is flop heavy a-fife the kerning morn.

Paternost of musical incest.

Gorforth into the needling key.

Perception votive out my regime of tubular dances and lubed decisions.

Parse God rot steeple naught.

If in dark are hills that encircle.

Hills that cast and loom.

Hills that devour their purples.

Hills that beath their corpses into breath.

Aspiring bellies of inviolable tears.

Hills that rend my given impulses.

Mallowed zero crow smut.

No fife erasures after Auschwitz.

Each time I live again the ancient dropsy.

Immobile house has flared around and consumed my body.

In the spigots devils.

In the cabinets skywares and crumbs.

Fierce my root.

Fascination-ecstasy with nay whip.

Parseable horses.

Parseable static in Molly’s wires.

I wave meekly at my rival border chieftan.

His wife and kids are good people.

 

 

                                                                                                      

 

      

 

                                   

 

 


TYPO 22