the mile-blue ponder

What is it, All-Blue-and-Smiles? I've certainly never heard of such a smuttering happy-how-thing? Doesn't it see you: down the now, into the you, up the ever, but always through on the other side, howling moonhate on the slip-and-slide sky. chip by chip, and side by side it clamps the under-up omniwho all across slip-up-sunday (which never cries and cries). No, never. Thick blue lips dancing across the bloody horizen chlomping and splurping salivamen who dance and dance and dance to the here-and-now-universetune.

drip. drop. glides crystal sorrow from hopeful eyes and once again it's sit-up-friday. Cry cry for the whole capful of them, the thick sunslosh few of them, unmeaning anything in their wonderworldeyes. The updrops fall to the blue from whence they never came. Can't you, won't you tip droplets of fire through the lionglass, pickpocketing he who sleeps and sleeps and never lives but always dies. It doesn't stop here you know. The whiping winding hip-hollering road unwilds itself at the unshine palace, never tipping, always wooing the on-and-on sky.