rummaging in the hole, fugacious flowers anguilliform, poltroons and pismires, sleek grimalkin on the hills and all thirstland pismires, little bawbee in the bergschrund, careened off craggy wall, billows of spitchcocks, and although we sang out coprolalia of not-knowing, a chiliad off craggy wall, billows of brimstone, toplofty as to drink cerulean eviternity of not-knockers, our sweet benthos, florid blathers and we sang out coprolalia from sun and the bergschrundthe descent, yours is the mothers, rummaging in the motherslike, to the predawn, you leapt to the bottom of your shadowy sewer, told cerulean eviternity toplofty and a chiliad off craggy walls, yourself hunted the relucent glass dark catoptromancies, charity of not-knowing
riferous, you dight swarmed around a chiliad of stars, fathers at the lake, erubescent glass dark catoptromancies, given unrelenting cacoethes, took us under the hills, and leapt into the dwaal of not-knowing
Required Reading
- What’s Your Problem with Joe Biden?
- Dirty Rubles: An Introduction to Trump/Russia (My New Book)
- Youth for the President
- A Summary of the Conspiracy Against the United States
- Trump: the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (Part 3)
- Postcards from the Resistance, Vol. 8: Mother of All
- From Lance Armstrong to Trump: The Rise & Fall of the Deified Narcissist
- Reading Malcolm X in Texas
- Playing the Donald Trump Game
- President Rapist: Women Under Trump
- An Open Letter to My Fellow Liberals
- The Democrats Can’t Win If They Won’t Fight
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