Never’s Waste Bin

Sat to the street screaming my kind don’t have winners to Davion a red hair. Mad Hatterss calming it’s hempt in. Drifted angle runs on streets in corner winded mist real ghosts did hound me in. Off un to them. Illiterate strips in boxing speech utter efferent cover for more pressing effect. In places of others pockets. Often it’s tendered billiard ill of me. That lack of guff nor flint its site not moved blue of the passing. Tear drop ports top rails builds & roofs. Penny flipped rolls down floors as casters. Their voice level to the mists whose fess touchings do cover the drips with pat wet meltdowns. In pinch a manly excuse for truth the eyes did let loose. Clem it a sniff giving a fingertip hitch waist set me kicking glittering gems their puddles where the sidewalk ends. Those stars hung in the mantra are lands of the sky now ripped down of the stanza left an empty dark star drifting the contra-naught-drums reeds into never’s waste bin. Oh my dreams where I leap depth definitely. Escapes from the Eckerd linch men. Miss sister’s pin notes on my lapel. Instruct the others I was tattled tailed. How I slip WW-1 aces in. To get back Jack Deuce his shoe loops. Cherry Bells her harpsichord. Bounce quarters like big cartoon hearts in lovers eyes. At the grand seventh gallery dance in a strip green barrel & suspenders with soft drink straw hat in nouns glasses.