[Mitch]

Over on that opus, opalescent pearl hoarding banks dangle under the sun flare show, sangre.
Son there are only so many corridors to hide the centaurs. Thank the sun for your shine, thank the brick for the shadow, thank the sea for your shackles, thank the land for your stance, shake my hand and set soar for second shore, sand.
Topple the wall, the feathers follow along, what falls faster? Now that's a question, more or less, more a lesson.
Guess what the wax weathers electrical storms.
Stencil sorcery, elemental wars with eraser heads and pencil swords in sheathes of paper, unsheathed with speech bubbles up above of the eraser heads, exclaiming hate for lead in hungry grunts of aching worm belly belches.

Thoughts dive in puddles of bong water with soaking tobacco boats, stroking shafts of smoke, till some ass evokes a climatic blow.

As children we're desensitized to killing, no censor hides the centralized messages breathed amid the fill-in of nursery rhymes we disturbingly chime untill each sentence 'sighed had' conferred the designs you build till fit-in.

Spittin Special Ops option Special Ed Edition cryptic pictographic. Action.