The pastry of my discontent sits in the fridge.
Was Martin Smid a real math student?
There's something that doesn't matter.
Rumors of impending doom for the late night.
I developed a taste for butternut, and I'm afraid the season's gonna pass me by.
That reminds me: get the pumpkin thing at the Helmand – everybody says so.
I'm going to just play louder and louder.
My nose is going to bleed and I'm going to play louder.
Things'll get caught in my throat and I'm going to play louder.
Gunshots, grocery stores, short walks, furniture, trains, cooking utensils, underground and over and I'm going to play louder.
I'm going to play louder and louder and louder.
Look in there. Just look.
2 comments:
there's a little guy in there somewhere that knows what to do.
LOUDER
Post a Comment