On the First day of the purple fog---Gods of the blind, voiceless, dream-sages who dwelt in the secret hours. Sixty lost minutes when the furniture shakes out of its static shapes. Headless monks with Meat-hooks in their place. Could not find the mixed drinks during dark Times Holiday. The sequence of Fascists took over the desert. Only one patrolled road leading into town.
On the Second day of the purple fog---The younger squeezed new into narrow columns. Sliding ramp for tin barge, The mainstream eyes on your breasts. Thick drippy steaks, prophesied things. I glided in warm peace evades mighty wall green Snow wooden break. and he complains.
On the Third day of the purple fog---Shiver in dark would lean way to lick your Abandoned males. The sound of gunfire everywhere. Sparkling tips of donut bits for all. Clasping oboes. March down the street humming the national anthem backward.
On the Fourth day of the purple fog---Girl asks if nurse then prods Oak Spirits Cave again. Dust of chalk fogs the already fogged air. Fireworks pop. The nurse Kansas thorn pushed me through, realize his intention from reading the forest tongue bible of drums.
On the fifth day of the purple fog-Chewing feather Bunny wedges, in the moment's pause. A few chews and then we are off. Some well born shakey car sleep. Dreams between the spastic shakes. Back up, vacuum packs of meat floating in the air. Rucksacks full of fuck sags.
On the last day of the purple fog-"Use your cigarette to Blackout that soup!" Throw it bowl and all outside, it smells of rot and poop. A place Where the alarms, and have nothing more to rebuke. A face coated in layers of puke.
The after-math-She in see-through shirt crusted with the Dust of love, dirty pie, bad advice, and the drunken sunshine.