Only I did think that the revolution would give my mouth sex appeal.
Very slowly, though, so my gums could still lip the words, because I only read playboy for the articles,

Eventually, at Gulshan-2 , the hawker bellowed “International New York Times”;
Runaways, this is not a protest song, so I cannot catch your eyes mid roll.
Transient: because you really did not want to know what Iprimmyfacialhair meant when he called Novemberfest auditoriums tamashas, as if Ginsberg was on trial for Haymarket.

SpongeBob balms my brain,
Elongated antennas don’t translate verses into chorus, so
Empires phoenix, while the XXX parts of game of thrones are on rewind,
Cowing is radical,
Hence do not bitch, unless everyone suddenly remembers, that Inu was the one who wanted to be a shoemaker.

Inscrutability not a virtue?
So, I will not read till the end, as this diktat has too many un-published tea-pickers drunk with organic agriculture.

As they were when I was kid and playing doctor with the girl next door

Even as I have not actually edified myself with Mr Kissinger’s oeuvre,
I believe I like the size of his sacks, which are working, as we do not speak,
To bring a Starbucks to Rayar Bazar.


Photograph: Post Box Entertainments

April 1st: NaPoWriMo

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