For Rob (inspired by Max Ernst) counterfeit x-rays

a thousand collides and then some protrude as rituals
compressed through the chest of brown vacated inside
terror dawns. the sweeping waves of accolades taken into
consideration how x would react. Would be reactions through
death carved temperatures funneling hidden seizures.
for the tank. and i hardly think it's the desert unless
there scratched into the clock is a woman with her arms
Sahara and her her mind a crow. many lizards not this close
watching your journey with twin eyes roped to twelve
mountains and forty miles of canvass. i chose what usually isn't
monument unless through choices grain. the sky suckles
the edge without attention to combine conventional observers.
when my server downloaded catastrophe breaking away acceleration
joined the receiving end of her fingerprint. balance
a sling shot cliff hanger dream in careful blends of history.
it is all we've seen before. collecting pentagon and filling
the path with slightly brighter if not perimeters
swathed inspiration. to reach condensation. a place where
one would hang, shoot it out with foreign corpses.what
hands are comical when chaos dressed as oblivion. the piled
legacy of sun gods, expressed vacantly to dispose of seismic
acre after acre. the commentator, riveting obedience at the prospect
of taxes. it teaches me to think differently at the dinner table
washing away paint from he cloud that stutters myths bled
and misspelled reflections always crowding the journey.
I'm having fun. some steps tattooed adrenalin. a man is niether related to the
Eiffel nor seated with dawn at blue's demand. what crime wouldn't
pay. apathy. swimming houses kidnapped to demonstrate
(what) fine tuned demons are attacked by wings in a dance
not enough for one hand and too (so) much for thinking in
the fBRIC of innocence. a door painted by a black man.
none the less connecting here and there a grim carinate
for truth counterfeit x-ray.