Hello popping wind blown out. Face my cages under-cupped, pretend to turn towards me and laugh like that lip above your curtain. And shame is the same when you land on your spectral toucan bill and hide from the cold which burns ice. Stand out for the ice, and wait waiting until it hurts and then fold and find that Purple. Struggle with the head forced into frozen oozing around death like oozing out into life from between the legs, dropped above it as your own singularity whether you want to be it or not. Look, the amount of eye-whites says the most just don’t shoot down the chimney with them exposed or else you’ll see what it feels like to get fucked by Mary Poppins in the palms. Hello popping wind blown out. March 4, 2006