Winston O. Boogie

Scoff Scoff, Blythe came to me in the middle of the sun drenched rain storm and be-spoketh: Bring me my multi-berry chucks of Pork Chick dressing. That was when the Strom Merman swum uponce my bonce and groved my apple tree down beloo. I Live you I told the dopelgranger looking upon myself, unlike any other, and drank that cold nose until the swamp was reeling lawn and spears. It's touch and feely, Dan but my Mic was tiled with dreams that would eventually tense, and muscle brown patches of Grease slipped back their heirs to reveal the emptiness of a cold forehead. I miss her like a train. I grow so folded and my clap taps traps to the rythm and rhyme of my bad time, stuck inside the hall of brides, where the whites of my teeth grew whitlier with the madrigals.