The Bed Fluff

[also in this form: The Bed Fluff]

Dedicated to triggers

 

That’s not my situation;

I don’t like those bed sheets; and I try hard to stay climbed what ever that means;

Into the left side of the bed;

It’s not whet; and I think this is a sure fire sign that I will on day one be Whet; uh, I mean wed.

 

That to me seems like a dangerous gray cloud.

Look; lolly we could die that-a way: oh we must be in a different Time. That-a way.

I know the Mountana mountain was gray at the top ; and wen we got there we weren’t really sure; if it waah was on a cloud we had finally landed; and if so,

Do you think the cloud would like to be landed.

 

The sheets were blue and had silver lines; it was so obvious to me; that even among all the molestations and rapes; other peoples: oh peepholes, the animals too; not mine of course; this was art.

When I said that at the department store; with my bend and trigger; they all gauked and I thought of the plaster walls in the bathroom; and of course not bend and trigger;s ; who gauked back and this was called art;

That’s what I said:

This is art!

Of course I owned the department store; so there was nothing I could do; I mean there was nothing they could do;

Except pretend that I didn’t.

The next day a kid in my neighborhood; like a spoon and knife; went to the department store; without a rid; nobody knew how he got there; that’s the w/out rid. And bought bright magenta sheets; I hadn’t designed them completely; but like a moon my cousin had.

That’s called were-wolf.

 

 

That’s the beginning of the story;

In my back are arcs with of cream yellow splinters and tipped with red surfaces; like a snow’s peak.

On  a gray cloud,

Landed?

Would you want that for yourself gray cloud.

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