Quantum Fruit for a Belle

Caecilia Marcusi thus proves fermentation was the reification of

civilization raised three whole hands to the Magritte sun, pow-red!

Crowned for ground like what time does it do to point in (hat

in hot hand) the same direction as a Christmas tree faces

all ease and wash out your mastered hair of canyons hard with

crayoned with so often softened dusty boys and breakfast nouns

glut like penumbral plumbery spelling out Earth’s salty rims, for-

thwith, many animals wipe their noses on their mothers’ abdomens.

Non-competes, for history excluded finishing long lunches. Hurry

on much about your relay that has that the tangled hitch conceded

what all the ever-were rivers weigh, non-things dispassioned or a nan

dispossessed, quartered for the last true heresy is analogy: blest Onan.

Take me for ten hours ago four wings spread images two white-line

epics once perceived we rived the party of bosons and morons. Onto-!

Pisces, gentleman, they say, have clumsy portfolios. It tracks, per

haps, but nine times of ten said regulation is strictly performative.

Now the girl. Ah, the girl. Forgive, the girl eats a blonde apple in punch

champs. You’ll see in what frame rate that coincidental hell is mustard.