I think there is my rest you do think not.
I blink both eyes so is both got.
The thousand syntactical variables.
If big you go be just as still.
If hamster eggs be not unstill.
With legs like wild mice.
Of snap of crunch of pop I pray.
The effervescent nostalgia lay,
Upon a damp and soldered hill.
Me thinks me though my thoughts are fluid.
The arm that moves the candle to it,
Is slimy as it slivers.
Exacto practico balloon.
Like oil on a broken spoon.
I'm only of the sun.
In tinted windowless cocoons,
In luminescent vacant rooms,
We just do what we do.