Struction and destruction. Destroy all your instructions. Your flesh is
programmed with your bestiny. Your breasts are programmed with
destiny. Tear off your bras and thrust foward the Breasts of Destiny!
    Braid the breaded breasts of destiny. The pendulous beasts of the
denizens of the deep. Bite the beasts of yore! Fight the wicked dragon
breasts, spitting milky tears at all the rest.
    Destory the debriefing glories. Destory the story boarders. I really
need to take a map. Who's afraid, who's afeared, who's afweird of the
weirdoes? The weirdoes' tomatoes? Their piddling tittytoes?
    Blurred wordlings, worldlings, wordlets, circlets of spiral worldlets.
Paddle me with the Star Board. Paddle me to the shores of the Star
Hoard, where the star whores recline, humming, the starry smiling
courtesans, with their milk-white arms, undulating in fingertipped
greetings like underseathings.
    Weighing the washing wishing ways of visiondays. Walking the
catwalk ways of backtalk, backwalk, blacktalk, batwalk visiondays. Awl
talk and now action. Weaving the winding whirling whorls of wondrous
blinding Bavarian thunders. Minding the windy whining windings of
electromagnetic fields, electromagnetic fireflies in the elfish, selfladen,
flayed-open night.
    Bats give you such a fright — are they that tight, the bats and the
night? The bats and the night are wound tight with whiteknuckles and
firebones, illumineyes up toward the curtains of the sky, the sequined
squids, starry cometary kids, orbiting the northstars of the four-star
sky.
    Ignore stars? Ice cream for morestars. More starts for the starry
hearts. Less false starts and more vaulted hearts, vaulted arching
hearts defaulting, unfaulted, strike-slip heart's fault. Take your heart
out of the ribvault and let it crack in quaking destruction, Mr. & Ms.
San Andreas.
    The night explodes with bat parts! Out of all the starry vertices of the
quadrangles of the constellated geometric night, come the smoking
vehicles of dreamicles, the falling icicles of wavicles of dream eagles,
egalitarian dream bells swell well into the night.
    Fight the angel dragon beast — fight the dragging, drugging angel, at
least. Angling for the angeling tittyfeast. Increase the creasting teasing
pizza-pleasing feasts.
    While the heaving questing chesting breasts rest, the rest of the
quest crests the rocky eagle's nest, the peaks of the borders of the land
of Neverrest. Here in this rockbound airy home, aerie home of
rockeagles, stone of mock evil, feeding screaming eaglets their
squeamish chewed-up meals. Evil eagles buzzing spieling spelling
wheels. Cleaning preening queening feathers bombing the balmy rocky
heathers, in the coldest and the warmest weathers.
    Eature feat! Feetyer. Fiture. Phaeture. Creature. A feature creature,
made up of shambling hungry loops of film! Celluloid beast with an
intestinal tract full of microbes that digest human beings!
    In the crow crosswind, waxing and weaning, growling and grackling.
Crows in the crosswinds of bolts of crossbows, the crosscrows of
yesteryear, cawing and pinging, singing, singeing.
    Excuse me while I hook a hundred pleasant thoughts of love one by
one on lacy wings and blow them away into the universes like the fluff
of dandelion heads. These are the places of lacewings. Place wings on all
the margins of the sky. That will help it fly and fly.