Longform sleep settles the frosted windows of trident. Squirrels haven’t got rainbows and the worst is having its dinner around the corner from the spanner shop. I cannot begin the fridge the car the dank and slow small spindles that forgot to order the correct coffee.
Kent was never where it was meant to be. Has not been the first time the worst line the forgotten triceratops said. I the all Spalding spider in the watershed moments that begin with a station crumbling into the sky with a pocket full of soul gum.
Carry the forest for the foreskin with the dandy fingers on the box. With a silent half pence riddle the can was forced to fly into the arabesque line of toads. Where are the boys with the bots that build the night sky into ski lifts and weird shifts of stones.
Image by Reimund Bertrams from Pixabay