This dim verb goes back to its fly on page five. A trolley
car begins to ding ding under the din of the birds and the
taxi-whistles, over the movie conversation kisses to my
left of the movie which would be okay if it could just
be okay. Zero, posing like a boxy metal sculpture, goes
dog-lover cruising all of the dog-loving couples. I beg him for
one of his high-sneezing kisses. The broken pigeons waddle.
I propose a bruised coffee that loses its sting across a longer
dog; caresses an olive sweater over a pink stroller full of baby
bulbs. Fly on the camera hands me a new camera with Italian
pigeons. They chase the bigger birds to Italy in a police car.
Go maple syrup skin that somebody loves with its handlebar
moustache! Might I next ride your gigantic [flypaper] with dogs
or get up and uber-straddle you like a burnt out taxibot?
