Sunday, May 10, 2009

Malnurished Carbon

Don't worry. That boy still has a sense of smell. The pencil retracts in a square formation. Risking breakage, Jillian, walks a straight path. 

Illicit love making in the back room. Strange temperatures weaving silk fingers. Painting the love affair of the an aborted race horse. Its jaw ripped off. Inside containing the ideas, lost from a German tailor.

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