It was Dawn, and as the sun set, Moose went to market. A great throbbing tunnel, fleshless and without rs filled with tears, drowning protractors. Cheese. Sporks. Banana monkey quick step. All throughout the night sobbing wails swam turnly over marmsilate, but without turpitude. Only in peace may we find war. Quoth Moose, "I devour the flesh of infants, granting immortality to the aged." Cheering. Howls of blood granting as fluiding dustmites reign over the charnel house stench of your wigwam, only without Moose there are none. Half past anger, a bird crushes time but its bulk is hollowed with tuning fork draperies to cover the wisdom of ages past time. Fluoride cause cancer, answers the shiny black paper rag dangling precipitously over the tangle bangle of soapy dishsud worshippers, a handful of elastic pure lust, made blood-soaked and cheese. Follow flee flares. Did you know my father was a man without a name but searing the eyes I grasp Moose, bellows blue to call up space, empty with fullness of catastrophic scars. "Grant me this bucket," he calls, "the bucket shall hear me!" Bucket. Basket. Apple-lime-fungle jorce. Can you believe that, Samuel? With green slimy roots plucked barrel-like from the river, the night fell crushing all with marginally fast, fast, fast fairy water sky-falling with beauty delicate, granted by Astarte, holy mother of Moose, still journeying to market. Cheese. Sporks. Banana Monkey Quick-Step. Joy is a warm puppy. Time flies like fruit, but eat with delicacy found elseways in natural feeling. Tiring of this, Moose buys and dies, a thousand tears fill his heart vitamizing he but jerkifying innards, innards of functionality that beat and throub with fastness of speed, making death less than three days, but bring out the color of his eyes. Flowers granted, placed in bag and eaten by hot dogs and chicken bones, only lonely men watch TV, freed. a hyperintelligent shade of blue