The plausible decay has acquired force of habit
I gatoraded on new information:
calibrate a crisis of inability to kill
to absorb the republic in a fast apostasy
summa arm pop cheat: Send a Fax to God
we are winos psychosis wants
a refrigerator, you're shooting misnomers
shit stifles -- cinch up aliens
could stepwork retire -- T.B. to you too!
Unionizing temper strobe me off
your individualism in
the market for crowds, herds only the most
lunatic of conspiracy theorists proved to be correct
sax sounds so fast you think
it must be processed -- your coma is pre-paid
assassination is just for booktitles any surrogate could win
orphan eats the entire mainstream
turning ghettos into popsicles
migged oxygen you squint & it's
imperialism -- narrative just makes me tense