Demon Drivers

The radio controlled emotion of a steel framed explosion happens not once nor twice or three times. Several sharp impacts equals a scrambled surface. Where no glorification of swamp residue exists for it glows and glows and expands in luminesce essence and radiance akin to an ornate fish pond in a Japanese garden in a nightly display of colour. But no koi. And no little lovely bridge neither. Just a frosted glass vision then of a prettily tamed landscape. A finely tuned circumference spilling fragrance and delicate petunias prance. Petals versus petroleum in a bubbling froth surround. But no glaze on a traversing pollution playing field of great expanses of waters. Fish then none. No fish. They are all now pink. They are not going to be able to join in the festivities of the eta number of partying prawns whose efforts on beaches at sunbathing leave little structure to imagination and whose ignorance is cased and boxed in a tight spiralling shell. Oh well and move on to the cliff of decks. For decks are not daring darts nor decision drifting deficits. A queen in a tight fitting pumpkin suit is laughing acrimoniously at the ceremony of cement. And in the cave lies a raucous beast with a very big belly who is ticklish and giggles when the rocks touch his knees. News neither nurtures nor necessarily needs names. And a ship us arriving at eighteen minutes past eleven behind the seventh cloud in the kitchen. Or in the bathroom. It is never wise to stand more than two feet away from a mechanical mainstream managed man. And it is often wise to wave tiny scraps of paper at this point for at this point there is a ten foot drama from a little lemon in a skirt, a lorry lounging, a plunge pool falling asleep and a wheelbarrow filled with pigs, monkeys, pineapples, and zebras. Wow. Wonderful isnt it? Happen upon a cartwheeling biscuit today? No I thought not for only cattle cartwheel at the time of the tidal prance. Haha boxed up boxing buffoon building. Xxxxxpropellificationalismxxxxx