hold on to your turban, it’s gonna get sunny

tumbling universes

swirling spiral globes

spinning, unhinged

superior camel-riders

collapsing the desert into a thin horizon of sun and dust and hillsides filled with grain

cabbage and red cream atop the waterfall of pleasure

I sit. And ride. and wow what a spectacular judgement of self-controlling werebats!

how atrociously flamebait! she said. are you afraid? of what?! dying is a maze of confusing lies, with a golden cicada at the top-center.

and four corners define the cube of the universe

underneath the chicken barn.

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