Many mild-mannered angels, pin-dancing in box-step designs. Imagine the
lavish balls on the head of this pin! Angels giving head to a penis like
a pin, like the needles of pines — soon, the prick pricks, and she needs
a needle with a tetanus shot in her anus. Which she takes in stoic pride,
needle in her backside, thermometer in her anus while she looks up at the
night sky, where gleams the planet Uranus.

 

Pinangels with pine tar on their penises. Pine tars on the penis
stars — pine star on the spines of rats. The pine rates apply when the
stars come down over the pines.

There was a penis panic in 1970, and all the rat-women burned
their bras and romped in the pines, teats tick-tacking all over, while
the star-women watched from above in invisible anti-grav boats, wondering
what the hell these gals was up ta.

The pine star — woodgrain star on fire on the lawn of the sky.
Wormwood? Wordwood. Wormwords in the woodbin. Wormwood was John's own
personal symbol for the bitterness of secular empires, falling
irresistible and unstoppable like stars from the sky.

And all the poor Christians in pews as we speak, spewing reeking
cheeky bland pinworms all over the altars...searching for spirituality.
Searching for jesus doctors and indoctrinations, the indoctrination
nation putting in its ass time on the pew on Sunday.