Earthworms Up to My Knees
BigBlueSnake
Published
02/27/2011
Why can't i find words to herd the ears back to where they heard theirs. Right back on face in
shapes of superman posers playing in the broken fire hydrant next to the city's transformer. He
was the former bench warmer third stringing beads. High from methane in the back of the van
with his band playing in his phones. Bored sick up tricks of flicked buggers flying straight for a
hypothetical punch spiked with some cracked up illusion of power. Scaring the shit out of
frowning down lookers with followings of hookers hooked on addicting outlooks looking bad. Sick
of feeling dull bones roller coasting on hoops of cold wishing wells in empty halls of cobwebbed
would have been statues looking toward the skylight with earthworms up to their knees boring
through ground making farther skies even further. Unpolished brass door knobs guard rooms of
sprung timed traps with skin flaps in their pins, records of pain caused by evil lazy deeds of
blundering fools with tools of idiotic melodic songs that frolic in new car scents sending sex
appeal vibes to the wrong kind of frogs that eat regular diets of fly girls. Read my non written bio
to find out where my brain cells are and I'll give you five dollars worth of minor blues symphonies
compact discs. If age doesn't have meaning why can't i be older in the eyes of the wrinkled
canons with rivers of enjoyment between weathered walls.
shapes of superman posers playing in the broken fire hydrant next to the city's transformer. He
was the former bench warmer third stringing beads. High from methane in the back of the van
with his band playing in his phones. Bored sick up tricks of flicked buggers flying straight for a
hypothetical punch spiked with some cracked up illusion of power. Scaring the shit out of
frowning down lookers with followings of hookers hooked on addicting outlooks looking bad. Sick
of feeling dull bones roller coasting on hoops of cold wishing wells in empty halls of cobwebbed
would have been statues looking toward the skylight with earthworms up to their knees boring
through ground making farther skies even further. Unpolished brass door knobs guard rooms of
sprung timed traps with skin flaps in their pins, records of pain caused by evil lazy deeds of
blundering fools with tools of idiotic melodic songs that frolic in new car scents sending sex
appeal vibes to the wrong kind of frogs that eat regular diets of fly girls. Read my non written bio
to find out where my brain cells are and I'll give you five dollars worth of minor blues symphonies
compact discs. If age doesn't have meaning why can't i be older in the eyes of the wrinkled
canons with rivers of enjoyment between weathered walls.
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