tom taylor - prison ingrate surface

Prison ingrate surface. Grated communes linked afar no pleasure in the monkey shines aparted mentations their own globabble links to outer starts these allowed to speak by default the prison’s rated cheese less knowable than before in silence they wreak us down the lane no appositives gerunding among the sentence structures wherever sent to leak their poisoned secrets off her shining face, apple red cheeks pouching chimpmonk like the rest of their ilk. No more. Enough of these late-night rovers cling aside as much as not noticed in the babbler touching sighs among the peasants gathered around their fucks are lent to other nations’ reclusive dictators far less hoped for than episodic razz matazz inking papers now and then.
Fortunate to those who follow these empty charades is the layer upon which it all rests in the hopeless and the hopeful who populate the empty cities bereft of supplies and or flaming lips speaking tongues their own lingo portrayed as if internet speakeasy is not so much implied as rectified beyond appearances in the latent porches of your own diatribes running in circles have not indicated any position or color on the sands of time. Your own resemblance alerts me to some incursion here but properly described emits some rulers of thumb and nail biting has a formal preclusion inherent beyond the marks on the floor.
I called you neighbor in the rungs of less heat than before. But no allowances were met afar the sudden intersection boxed not stirred with straw mats on the door as undescribed one liners in the panties of fate restored by lines implied within definitions as if inertial to monuments we denied them one after the next on the plates and finishes of the wall before your hands unlimned buttressed apart from known substances boxed no rennin added before or after consumption in small children left unreported by those who just didn’t care for any interference from flowers at the mall one after the child borne by still birthed mechanisms where the last are the first among their cretins forced labor in the absence of any oxygen tanks and pressures let go unnoticed in any after math at all.
Still I call you down the seasons in the dark before us gradually becoming clear that none of the above certainly applies here to what you’d internally tossed alive into the fires of life the waters of strife fighting over every drop left in the heavier depths where the giant squid lives and thrives its beak upon the darkness of the waters one hand at a time you came up over the side of the boat only to find plumbing the deaths of others in a circular saw laying the floor down one board at a time. Stern master plinth and succor from the detrimental and lessoned heaves one bag at a time into the hold of the shit.
I moved aside lest she pass me by in silent stages playing to another empty house when only fifteen showed up despite a massive informational effort on the part of all the poets concerned with distribution and practice. The flowers themselves renounced their color, as if an organized campaign had consciously taken place among the life forms at strontium ninny headed up the campaign for the release of the prisoners ingrated on the floors of the tower again, yet heanded beyond tempo in their gray uniforms where they were kept from the prying eyes of the medium rare implications were left on the table. Still, eyed had ‘em now and then at the top of the hill your own corrections made more or less automatically at this point recommended by the ignorant hippos wandering the grounds with their weapons stuck onto their foreheads, rhino or not. Now the hour terms its willingness to be described in these few words as if some clarity were possible and rampant in the husks of doubt which retain their original flavor even in death. Still you call my name every hour as I answer at equally unpredictable intervals of color and top.