Sunday, January 4, 2009

Faux Be Real (or Raid on a Chip)

I am not sure - Just having some fun i think. you can be the judge (as always)



The Faux Is Real; Bad.

Good marrow, she sed,
Glutting the excess off her skin

Good gray rage maintains
Range three quatre centre
All misty pithy eyed fat
Around the middling

Distance - He used
The formal reply
As she twere
His better.

All a sodden storm of failing
Down a chaos of dorics
Rose petaled from the grunt.

From the sweety sweaty chops
Of old Medusaula (Grunty
Crunchy the old trainys
Gov bull fullish voyeurgins
A wight royal rooking ober)

Bone Up Win Now Bone Up Now Win
Incessant Doric chaunting.

And she pulled the flat
Of the pork bone essence out
The floods of 'erobe
Awl drippy droopy with fig paste
And appletdumping snores.
(Sharpened for days
Rubbed against the rood
Of the mystical rukh)

She plungerd the sparkling
Bone intwo yon yore eyen.

Gut winnowing my peat all
Pedaling...

(Fore now she used the formless
Parting speak -
She is your butter).

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