a weary, slightly stressed gang of flapped-out gosling fledges, road-frozen, bleary, trusting and plodding artistes de cartographique, like sex-workers, priapic, shifting voids of North stars which pass trails, nonviable, reembarked by the Renaissance Man of La Mancha, mixed with clinical hypermanic mechanics of all things: 'anti-,' not-'ing,' as if lacking severely that which leaning might worsen by rejection brain instigation. in simulation of "how to hold a knife and fork, which spoon for soup, which for escargot,' a disinhibition assiduously conditioned by way of endemic okay to evenly, without apprehension in mid-elocution of something with no need of stutter to reach a solution as to exactly which host will notice or miss the beat or the beat in-between Chopin's waltzing Viennese's Mathilda back out from Walkabout near Perth, for what it is worth.
But your manicured nails adroitly repair the lift in your step, slightly overdone, like white, wilted asparagus which plate-to-mouth, without utensilware, where blandly accustomed to some sort of implement with which to hender one's progress in the name of buying the pig a dress, to be sipped from finest most boned China Chinoise, le the lightly steeped, peridot slivers and service and saucers and books by Dante and Chaucer read among ringed bells and snuffed candles--your view is on offer.
He sits in not forgetting the sweetest of mushers, that rose-lit, remarkable, all-nose red usher, whose equivalent thrives frozen in time when tintinnabulation, Winter's ill-humored equines Iditarod it in place of their cousins out studding wild Mustang fillies
[for example, while it will be no coincidence that love-struck poet Filly is named Romeo, "Bianca" is unlikely to be a reference to the titular character's wife in Othello. As that reference doesn't relate to her character at all, it is likely she is named "Bianca" because the name means "white" and she is. An exception to this rule would be if a set of Fillies had a less-obviously themed set of names (e.g. if the Fillies living in a flower-themed house all had non-English words for flowers as names)],
not bovine, with cud in mud to their eyeballs, nor plotted of arable hectares of grassland of yellow-green nacre, cultivated and cared for, orphanage storehouse's Best Little Whorehouse's non-GMO scientific, redundant, retried evidentiary peer-reviewed studies, incontrovertibly blind by humans like Plagues, who ignore present-tense, like desperadoes waiting for a train, out there riding fences, in Beta, rarin' to go First Edition, inception not afraid of perdition, come vainglorious, relatable, cousining sylph to lovers of Nabokov or of his faunlet, whose diminutive, suffixed neologism stands for wee cunts like Balthus or Lucien Freud's slip of a thing, go Heathcliff wholly wolly in kilts built for speed, too itchy for comfort, in Mary Tavy's Nest goes the rump of the bleat of its trumpet, memory of things lost swain--long her discomfit--down on knees, applying to strumpet by firelight chat not Roosevelt or Ives, its hearth burns hot and your well-endowed to hold things evident, already half-call is the lucubration fouled by lubrication, flagellation, and felicitation--I manage to cry out, one more from the backbench, ejaculate--all of it, lustily luck from the fuck of the suck the truck is unstuck from the mire, and is done as she do it one more in the fire, as she rise up her knees and along come her pride, a lioness beside a barkeep closing all doors to the Nest, where go we, to Peter Tavy but before last place on the Moors in a cabfull of whores, singing songs by the Doors, to arrive at ten past, but we know the owner and the key's under the floor.
