Reasonable suspicions accommodate the Commandant.
Wicker support on loose gravel
groveling toward the ground.
I surround myself with burdens and misdemeanors.
I am at best a commoner with wit,
misfortune is a bulldozer and a set of matchsticks.
Please get over the fact that life is a monopoly.
The rainbow horrific, patches of salt bourgeoisie
cackle at the curds shooting the thirds of a pistol
off as if were their cock...
or worse...
their livestock
that helps them survive when crops die
yet no milk ever flows from the source of a tit.
Mammals, they are, pathetic ghosts of evenings past.
Live hard to die young and creep on floorboards
loosing prime
give it enough weight and it shall break.
Down into a cellar they fall
it resemble a camp
the dust is just as toxic as gas...
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