Paragraph poems

Or low long things take. With singular enjoyment. Having to invent smiles. Opening packets of crisps. Putting socks on. Filling up chauffeurs brain. Follow that word lane. Left to right without crashing. Everywhere is heard to. Knowing through him. Identity theft in public volumes. With no one to find but inspiration. This may have been what sent. Me on the turn round, to think. Me and the ape of being studied. Out of body particulars. With liking bananas. Wanting to be naturally approved. From the big ring outside. Refreshingly useful. As a bucket. Performing to spill the beans.

The sensual fort of having a heart was sudden. As a heart attack is to the body provision. Complaining of irregular beats. With usual chips from frothing on. Mouthing off any feeling. To quiet determination. Proving to babble for nothing. Chorus lines for perks. Beat rates of lovely to see you. The importance of being dead to the world is impossible. Coherently wronged with proof. On its own to the grief of privacy. Dined on to answer in taste. Private lines in anger savaged up. Doing in the casual trip. When personal rest is advised. A day through history.

Overwhelming wit, overwhelming guile to have it down a rugby tackle. Grabbed back from time with a lark. Frugally absolved by frugal noise. Honed for underwater, advising crabs. Clicks with conscience there; oracle creaks with tamed sans, sheltered from wind. Fertile for oil in a million years.

You became and then you were an ice maiden. Church in how do you do for wanted
. Licking up to cool off. The story is completely wasted on me. The funny bit about the young trainee coming over from Brunei, applying for fatherhood at the greenhouse. I am annoyed that you won’t respond to these convoluted poems. Fighting to repress world peace. Little Lord Fauntleroy is on the increase. Resentment reserves my very own play park. Troubling the do gooding. Admitting the green eyed fairy tales. Love is a scene of rage in the brain, standing in for personality. It has to be corrected with a felt pen. Tardiness is talentless, shifting blonds. Pallor to relatives, rocking the hoarse piggy banks. Pantomiming a back end that designs. bloke that could have been yours. There isn’t anything of you besides book spines. Reeling for words cook soft and hard. Match there and bomb scare, ribbons applied. Supposed to enlighten plus the catastrophe. Everyone says that you sed to know me. But that I’ve joined up with popular opinion. Multiplied to the voice of a general. Backing the shout; good prophet. You had planned to love me and wrote several books. They’re all about the Somme in mental states. Attrition to struggles; known to all. Shot taking there; to rescue insanity. Strange love is evidently nearly. There’s a neutered testament from Jaws. About how he sank his teeth. It’s very amusing from a lobster pot. When meat is the game of being alive. Dismantling the chase of marmite afterwards. Pretending the fury to bag results. After all those jaunts the body counts. Mistaking talkers to the pheasants written off. To humble opinion dishevelled angry with inflation.

Should know a clone from a clone. Gullible standing in Romford. Inheritance greed as mainly false. Covering over the start. Goodness as polyunsaturated. Super gran began in the bathroom, ducking our heads under water. Red cap in the graveyard, today is the eleventh of November. It seems stupid to forget lies by living them out in front. Taking part in the draughty door. Trying to include everything. Parallel guardian to regent. Measuring temporary to permanent. Leap frogger and croquet player, picking up the spare mallet. External actors with goofy roles. Bizarrely able to clap. As home bands do house curtains. Drawing like orphans in charge. Eyes changing colour to likeable flaws. Whether to coat the tractor or the fleece. Stop and go accounts that go to lollipops. Cats and graffiti gracing falls. Doing away with the Rembrandt. Five thousand months for one coincidence. Appearing at the tapes for ten years. Indulged with special reserves. The taste business is thirds. Invisible man to take place. Straight things forward. Take the itch.

Governance may enlist me for the value of my story; Jackie and Deborah’s page. Quietly diverted to brief ker thlunks, brass rubbing the tourist attractions, converted there to the iron forms of freizing. It isn’t as if the seat could learn to be knighted. Pressure boarding the serpentine at buttock gate. As Mrs Simpson dips for paint and ramblers crack eggs. On the fixture for her to give the duchess. Never mind what I have to say, split ends to volumes, getting away with independence, one for granny. There need not be war with Captain Hook V rivals magnanimous, to purple bruises and volunteers. Mars bars all round at the end in massage parlours. Red jacketing the brawl to senseless muddle. As the most important commentator there is the toilet. With camouflage interpreting what the chair thought through. Relaxing every crossed hope to add relief.

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