A mixture of nuts

Frying a mixture of nuts that penetrate the idiots path with purple purity carried across the room by horned bulls that avoid a trip into darkness using their senses of madness and a hint of animalistic tremors, tip toeing into the neighbour’s nights while breathing in the garden orchids rooted into the underside ground and flipping inside out we hit the core and feel the magnet and without hassle the interlocking atoms spread themselves across seven planes that change chairs directly above a closed casket of death and we place the flowers to moan the idiot who first chose to mix a table of salt into his life and depending on his level of education he subscribed to a magazine of life and love that casted shadows onto and over the opposite sex and rendered them hopeless and with his power he expelled the pushy parents who lived their sheltered lives in due course to retire and eat themselves into early bird specials, to all-you-can-eat buffets where restaurants laugh at the food and throw money into their pockets and disregard the nature of the whole process that sets up a kaleidoscope of faults created from the brush strokes of elephants that share not their wisedom and vulnerabilities interlopping back into us and so the madness never ends.

HF © 2015