Knowledge down the transparent raffitide [Full Poem] [Temp. 0.653]

Knowledge down the transparent raffitide
  where flutter the clouds of the eyes begin to sleep at the Row of High street with their humbles fat at the mouth
  he was a heavy white poison have the sunset and he was a dead advanced and so detail:
  The More the Students didn't want the dead and the trailers in the counter and on his bed,
  a chariot smiled at the track alone.
  The slow necked Magical going to the street; it was back to the streets of an invisible part
  as if I was able to remember. I listened to the redbreast and a getter of wine.
  He was the police to the kind of the closet, in spite of teeth.
  At my fingers stuffed with their mouth, and in a double-engine counter, the whore returned with what they were.
  He was on in time to make a bad beauty in the sky on the earth the bandage of the nuts of my heart
  at a grand with the champion to send a short of the building fluted for stories.
  Wine still shared mostly he was in or that day. it was just another writer, and that never was
  as I just want my arm, his
  wits when he was a staffing at the trumpets and
  only the long time comes from the wood and sat at the place and
  standing on the screen, the start stood there in pure concerts,
  and the radio went out of time
  when she was gone.
  I didn't want to know. she got back the armies and
  eat the bars. I told him, then she came back and
  she lived in the wind of the left, I told her
  alone. it was a beautiful son-of-a-bitch, he
  said, "I don't like it."
  "I'm sorry, I'm not here," and I said, "that was a kid in a man stood there"
  and I said, "how are you doing?"
  "the mistake said?"
  "I don't know what you do about yourself
  there are other times."
  "I'll fight you and you'd be not
  barren at 2.me and the door would like to do somebody
  and what personally they didn't want to
  be able to get away?
  not much else sometimes in money?
  a story says but I know what happened to say.
  "well, what's the doctor?" she asked.
  "I don't like the man of shelter, I thought," I told him,
  "o.k., old man, I didn't even felt the
  house, not even a big back
  across the wallet.
  I really don't even know what to do it all
  but I would walk alone in a walker of an old man
  Making a permanent with my right
  about the world. and I said,
  "I don't know what I'm gonna do about you!"
  I said.
  "listen," I say.
  "goodbye."
  "I don't want to see that man."
  "goodbye, I think, I want to probably want to see about
  it."
  I tell him about him.
  "what the hell is so bad? you'd want to know
  anybody?"
  "go on, when your book has a
  beer. I put it off your tree" she was
  a funny go out for a dog.
  he slipped the door and we sat there like a
  grass, I see a man with money on the
  light bench and the hardest and
  I heard the freeway to be over here.
  "you got to know how many people were in a friend?"
  "it's going to see his face."
  "the doctors of cat is beautiful
  that the place is the best for the lady things that you can do is
  the world was there and you been through
  and he took it all over the other street
  and I don't like Bank stretched out of the bars and she was gone
  and we all wanted to see them and we would bring these people to
  tolerably write. . .
  meanwhile some of them throw away a face on the racetrack,
  you might as well stand when you go on
  when you don't know what you call look at
  here and are you the doctor
  the man I knew you're doing
  something. you look that son-of-a-bitch many your shoes
  and you
  wait, and you heard men like to be in your ear
  many a damned beard and your car (is the hospital, there were all the others
  are so great, the sun seems to be like sitting there
  and the better that sounded a message in a couple of rain
  when the editors asked them all:
  (I walked on a small table the canvas of the sand, there are some of them a reason,
  but the bust is coming out of the wars
  and then they were down on my face,
  I hold my slipping town at early morning, the whores at the breaker
  in the world.
  I reached in the window and the one with my wife
  and he said, and the next time I saw
  your short store and I fear I would lying up the beer and
  leave women and men live in the streets
  on a large soul, a boy's hand and your coat
  but the readers you don't want to
  do with me, and I never liked that mine
  I am going to see you back there
  and you can't do their way because they are buzzled into a
  street everything:
  maybe there is no man's father
  and fairgrounds are not even come for me
  and if you
  get away from the woods,
  and I remember it some of them alone
  to see the people who will send you and the track and the crows will
  go off the walls. you didn't see their houses and your boot soup,
  a terrible red day, and the sun is coming off a green walls
  and meaning, here to have me, it's the one
  my blood will be offering you
  and your lover like it is there
  and my son-in-way tooth follows a rush to
  the cars, being able to beat your laughter,
  the naked lots of burning, and the good children
  are fighting on a newspaper straight
  with fluring the grass of the rest in a room
  and the man in my sleep
  and you've got the bathroom and I reach for
  the road with the hard scream,
  my face is not so strange.
  they only beat them on the track
  there is a stranger to tell you that we wanted to learn the
  track and I just can't
  know. well, somebody sucked a small room in a pound waiting for 3 or 4 days
  for the days.
  the dumb city the day was here at the table--the counter
  the day you want to see about your woe and your sinking and
  put it carefully walked back to
  sometimes,
  and I will send me about them
  when you can't wait
  at me. I want to
  sleep the page of my wallet, poured back
  to the left one of my gods, thinking of
  mercy.
  I don't know why you could hardly
  die. next to your
  while.
   I don't even be sure that.
  the banks of going and I'm going
  to dinner in the morning.
    I think I never asked.
  they were a bad time
  one of the red haired times when they walked back
  embraced, there is a
  check of dead and blackbird.
  we are always the kind of the time with a woman
  and the spider at 6 or 7 years back and
  smiled at me
  and in the bathroom and
  the day had a fury
  red black cloud
  but stop turned
  me.
  the world was hardly else
  the beer
  and he said
  I didn't know who wrong
  you
  glorious and son-of-a-bitch
  to fight to do is
  I find the eyes of the state
  moon.
   I like the rest of them
  and I am well for
  the arms.
    the moon is a strung
  paper phone.
  I drive away from the horses
  and I went in and my successive hammer in the
  rocker.
  then I am not the only one and the supervisor
  and the people were going when they fell off the corner
  they are being made of the better
  meaning they tell them to melt one of
  them.
  it wasn't a couple of piano
  and the night screamed it in and out of the
  tree and the same old guy
  the grass is a
  free to the end of the
  papers.
    I don't like not to catch the dog
  back.
  my friends are like
  the world and the day like a vine,
  today when the room was tough and
  couldn't seem to be a lonely poem,
  thing is hardly a child where a man was
  trying to embrace these old ladies
  and I despite them and I thought it was
  awake,
  and I was able to
  leave and sit and look at me
  and I like for my last communists
  and there are easier the flies of the aboriginal bell of the
  living, and the stars are
  interesting.
    I gave no bird talking to me
  and I remember what they had to
  do.
    I suppose I will take a bastard, I said,
  and she said.
    sometimes, I turn a big dirty window,
  the old man in the bathroom and I walked alone
  then said, "I'll make a good and you've got all yard and
  attractive.
  I don't know what I write or myself?
    I really find it.
  they said you get me over.
  you're told the bluebirds for a woman, they will never
  sell. . .
    I am not all the time to get away from my head, it was leaving
  I kissed a chair and it was different and amazing
  that the others came out of the way to the morning
  and hard to see and go the bars,
  and they just sat there
  I watch the men's father's interest with
  the brush and work,
  I kissed it to the round streetcar and
  then a dog barks, they seem to be the day
  in the old woman and it's a bad love
  on the ground who was selfing and
  stretched out and learned a chair to get back to
  a hard, and a stupid champing of some
  hot excitement.
  and the man was calling me at the
  crickets with the towels;
  the minor we walked about his beard and
  fish--a hunk on the hills
  and some of them the leeping ones,
  "So is the old Free if you're a poet but what you can't
  get alone with something about
  your life!" she said.
  the other nods were always with my beer and
  pain.
   "I knew your asses. I don't like about you!"
    "well, it's been a couple of a stick going to the money."
    "You look at me," she said, "I know that it will sleep,"
  I said.
    all I want is her blood of a peach
  without action, it is walking the street
  and it was to fight and the editors
  shouted
  but I still see it all away and she couldn't believe a
  day.
    I had really helped them and
  drove in and said and said,
  "like you, you never worry, Lord, you
  get out, it's been my holy place
  and your stories are living in a barrel man to
  see you, you find myself that you can say, he said, you please
  better after your problems, he was a little child, you can't help it
  and when you're a big thing because her name is dead
  you can't sleep at me, I feel better or
  or to be looking but I hate you! you see me in the
  house.
    the men do it all over her
  like a bed and then she is not a belly, he's
  going to stay in a row
  and when you did it with me,
  I still knew your best and some of them
  matters.
  I don't know who to do.
  I am also the way to write about my
  house . . .
  it was a secretary wheeling
  the power of some of them
  all right,
  I know that they were coming in
  with bullet in their own
  country, I am a rich man
  and I walked over to the baker
  on your naziger
  in a chair,
  when you
  have to be able to
  do.
  but it wasn't been lonely
  alone.
    when you're the ticket
  of a dealing
  they were all coming to me
  or they say, and
  I am only if only you think you'd
  wanted me to see
  them, this is a power I can do if
  you keep your hair
  and she's a good one, I can't
  believe it, I am going to do is
  but the same thing I am credibly you can get your photo
  and it's all right
  sometimes I hate you
  and I've been walking by your
  arms
  thinking about in
  anybodies.
    there is this while
  they never spent
  you.
    and you've got a stale
  beautiful and she was
  best too late to see what you don't
  play you.
    we also ask, I said, you keep me
  not find yourself for help to others
  to bury your hands and
  I wonder why you come all with me?
  this is what they have, and I hope
  just a freak or a man and
  century.
    I don't know why I can't
  you want to hear them
  and you've been seemed to do it
  and I think you're never over and since you were an unusual time
  there were never best things in the morning.
    I will be doing with their new mornings
  and your poem is the company watch
  and I am laughing there at last down to the parking
  rain, what you use?
  writer to see? I am a gentle scotch, I'm gonna
  do and I said, I thought, I'm going to play your
  stories, holding a bad man in the middle of the
  living of my knees, I want to go, and I don't like the start of your ticket and
  childhood, what are you?
  can't you believe it?
  I am caught in time.
  and if you hate you there is a picture and the money is
  the proper thing that will never be absolutely say
  what we wanted to be seen anyway with you
  coming up at you. I don't like them anymore
  I don't like them, yet I back then, I want to see that it was
  alive.
   it's not we talk about the beer.
  there is no beautiful to death.
  you've made your name, why does a lot of things are not
  impressed?
  I am let you grin music
  better than I said, I said, you got the
  little touch of mine. I am a man who looked at me there was a man
  holding a buckle to my blue seat between the best
  and I think about it maybe your last leaf self the tough on your mouth and the traffic catch you
  down the lawn around your shoes out of the toilet door, and the living down the leaves are full somewhere.
  I sit on a chair with a story that couldn't do and walk in the mirror
  doors and 1:30 in the left-ear of the house music,
  the great sea circuit of breaking every day,
  the blood stands dead on the same
  black monkeys with their tacced dreams
  and I went in to the top of the bottle.
  the cannonballs slowly view toward the
  floor.
  my watch, barmen, and acid,
  and I watched the street to the room
  and I lie at the chairs of my verse.
  the whiskey and I went to the market on the table
  and the streets are blown off and it was
  up and down the street at the rock and
  filled with a pain and a wind and the
  crazies and the revolutionists and the first touch
  the spiders they tell you, and I am almost conving to
  well come before the best truth,
  they were all saying they wanted more than hell,
  but I watched the dead of Banks.
  the bull and the grass is
  there.
    the ballication drains me all along at all
  walking up and down
  alone.
    we are always here and he said, and I really wanted
  it.
    I walk to the window.
    I walked in and out of there and then
  I said, I was not fighting to do that.
  they walked out to die--
  the old man had been done,
  listening to me.
  the man I started the man who took me
  and he said, Christ, he said, he screamed, he said,
  "you told you if you can't be a gentle time
  that he was working about some of the state
  lost in the morning?
  it's been a getting drunk with the blonde of
  the long time.
  the thing has a truly a pair of straight and
  pulling out on the radio
  and I won't give it all too, it's right there
  and I walked out to a per letter the other woman as well
  that lights were gone.
    they were standing with a bastard
  I am big to the Radio's staring
  in the same woman in the space
  and the great second thing I can
  tell you the heartbelt of the old room
  some day with a night
  saying, "you see the bars!"
  we need one of them all.
  "thank you if I have a
  magnificent space?"
  "well, what about 200 years?"
  "yeah."
    "we've been on another cup. . ."
    what the hell wants it to be there?
  a long time in there without low to do
  and the one who did their country
  somebody else about you what they won't always go
  on the track and there's no good day while you get me in
  there are your bad women and the soil of
  the whores of your legs, they are like a tall troop and white braining at your
  ballows and my lovers didn't knew that the truths were all smiling
  and we are too old at all
  bearing an old woman and
  me too much of a piece of screaming than
  a form of a tough,
  the world wores 3 or 40 years back to the
  gut.
   a few times I have a hole in the midst of
  the world.
  my mother was so far away from the famous and one more
  cream that
  the cuntails are gone,
  and I stepped on the floor and lit a man wying
  did and scraped my saddle, I was drunk and into the
  hole. she was crucified in a small trouser
  as I waited in the main signal or lacking into the fleecer
  the paper tressed on the freeway of the
  streets.
   the track is gone, and although I have to come
  crying, men are so sure
  all without a moment left and
  stopping out of the pair of interesting mother.
  and I wrote the streets on the parking lot
  and they stopped the streetclack to the
  wall.
  the time is in the hotel room
  but I don't know why
  that I don't like them who is
  for a dramatic freezing outside one
  for the
  soul.