, there is no spells [Full Poem] [Temp. 0.654]

, there is no spells
  I am going to the many life of a great granite
  of all the dead beds and south.
  Finally, I really knew me not known, and the dull
  a car stops all over the street where they are worth and
  sitting with that panties and their white hairs,
  my friends and the gods are driving their lights--
  a cock in the arms and keep through my hand
  and they're the way of common and
  sound or let me see the long liver made another lover who
  doing with a hard, left and watched them all
  and the eyes of the dead face of a view of an opera,
  but seriousness did a man die, and being the supervisor walked them,
  some of them all, the air and the steambottomed and the sun, a god of
  wine turned about to get the grass of my first female
  I knew the people somewhere the dead thing.
  "they made me love and I don't like the man who kept me out of the women and
  I finally got to the racetrack where the telephone has heard and I saw the horses of the world
  and I went into a dirty hair, a little guy who promised to choose about 3000 years I have
  met my face in the tv mice
  while he came from the stretch or the radio, I watched them alone in a movie to much of a woman,
  they stop with a kind of good real funeral of some big stupid pockets
  and place by the way I like the sex and stare and the other was the same as the parking lot of torture
  and the organ clarities with their eyes and bacon and their time,
  pouring their toasts in a pump to dark the streets of the bed
  drinking a while and it was still enough
  the sun was lost at a block that has
  been cannot stop and speak to me.
  "I'm going to make him want to say"
  he said, "I hear me after I walk the cat."
  "I don't like the other women and five years ago," I said.
  "I'll tell you what about you about you!"
  "I don't believe it all mention I abate you!"
  "I believe it will go on," he said, "all right, you can't
  go anywhere."
  "I won't see life" she said.
  "I'm driving the spot!" and I fell over him
  and said, "I'll still have a woman, I'm still the world and the little son-of-a-bitch!
  I don't even know."
  "you see, the son of a boy is a stranger?"
   "yes."
  "why don't you like to do is too hard to let you
  be alone?"
  "yes."
  then he didn't know who is it wild and
  at the track.
  the poor rat came out in the walls
  the dead when a giant
  man danced to pick up his car, the whiskey
  was hit off and his hand
  everybody was down to the sledges,
  all the tan-faced winners will be smart and
  crumpled. . .the rocks and the teeth is
  cream-wine folds the sun
  and the sinking number cried at all
  for a luck.
  sometimes there was a
  man who eats half-drank at the entire streets home
  between the elephants, and the main century of the
  lady we are all beautiful, they talked,
  and strange his killers are locked in
  the barnst of person.
  baby, that fortune took them,
  the same listening stormer
  a girlfriend of the other mornings
  never to make it even a
  tree.