iPhone Maniacs
crankshaft tendencies secure a brace of sly meatballs
truth daggers entice the worm girls with petite pastas
creature lilacs uproot themselves for pink dippity-do gels
white nylon ghost legs roam outer space in latex leotards
metacarpal syringes find porous outcries in the gloaming
crankshaft tendencies welcome the tilted exonerations
iPhone maniacs fondle frothing bananas mindlessly now
demon spiders ooze inside the crawlspaces wanting meat
cross-eyed priestesses suck on wax candles in the vestibule
black-robed choirs sing hangover music to the dribbling
rock music annihilations played by stoned dudes in shades
temples and taverns shake as the truth daggers hit earth
now the worm girls are dancing with the iPhone maniacs
she said this air is our common denominater.
he said you smoke to much.
she said the shortest distance between
me and you is a four letter word.
he said you talk to much.
she said it is hard to draw a perfect circle.
he said you shake to much.
she said the trapazium metacarpal distal
is the 3rd bone joint in the pinky finger.
he said you are to bony.
she said bony is also a village in hungary.
he said you travel to much.
she drank her tea and quietly
looked out the window.
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