heeyá! in the night who gladdens stars as if horses and holding the reins holding little wolf-wigs to a bird, stars in in centrifugal spin, heeyá, do-ggy, unsweet little turd in your paper pants on the plane that I must change & I must change my mind about you daily as we revolve around the sun you say apple up mama baby hola kitty bye-bye hi papa hello you poke your head out & inventory: WA A A A! busiest self-propelled motorist / tourist / windmill removing all the adulterated items from my purse and breaking all the adulterated items in my purse and we love it, biter, you, your hectic hands and all that traffic you produce which has to do with meteors and books and brains and words and poop and constellations made the stars you make of humans
