Robert Frost once wrote with a Sharpie on a box of Wheaties over Karl Malone, the Mailman's, headband that the world'd sign with fire then the fucker distracted said ice. Imagine a picturesque lake rimed in cashmere and the gelatinous gingham flecked form of Robert Frost evolving from a stump on the side of the lake drawing up devices to pack his sandwiches with red stamped health department condemned deli slices from shady Amsterdam places.
Robert Frost goes with a little coddling into his happy place, a Showbiz Pizza with a real deal Holyfield original cast recording Song of the South, them critters lay out the fire while honky tonk raccoon medicine makes Robert Frost's veins run icy, locks his limbs, and crashes his cashmere Jaguar into crudely rendered cardboard cutout of a general store done up to fool a cattle rusltin' posse with a sixth grade comprehension passing through.
It is a well known fact that Robert Frost has a twelve foot forked tongue decked in cashmere and from time to time no longer knows this place, everyone is a science fiction device_tall, yellow, oil-dripping firemen who rescue kittens from styrofoam trees only to put them on ice like micro machines of prebiblical demons in mid snarl. Or to use the tiffs on Hungarian off label variant record covers of black metal defendants who believe in the axe and the hurdy gurdy and wield both mightily like warrior limericists.
Leaning against the elevator, inhaling the intoxicating the oncoming storm which'll do till the Ragnarocktober beer boycott renders him sober Robert Frost wiles his days knitting a cashmere sweater to stay the ice that is piling up from his fridge drink dispenser, hacks a wooden heart by firelight and builds nativity scenes at intricate detail and magnificent craftsmanship when the blacksmith isn't there.
While waiting, Robert Frost snaps a few icicles for his coffee, thinks how weird that Robert Frost is in one piece. When Robert Frost reads the what the ghostwriter wrote about his life, he wonders what with all the stuff on his desk, words for poems, flicks for storage, musical tones to collect in a USB based tome why Robert Frost'd hand paint signs with noncanonical gospel scrawls, and do 'em up in laser beams, stripes 'n thangs.
Robert Frost takes a drag, puts on Natasha Bedingfield and cuts a fence for a neighbor, splitting rails and hairs so they can't test for mercury, though it seems for the last two weeks Robert Frost got the Comcast high speed and on his desk goes to Peru, the Restoration, and drunkenly climb up ocean cliffs in an inkjet boat like a kid trying to 360 the swingset. Robert Frost takes off at the last second and casts a long shadow over the earth, the cities look like circuitry of a giant computer and when Superman showed him this when he was seven Robert Frost said you can't see the borders from here.
And Superman gave a nod in Helvetica.
Robert Frost goes with a little coddling into his happy place, a Showbiz Pizza with a real deal Holyfield original cast recording Song of the South, them critters lay out the fire while honky tonk raccoon medicine makes Robert Frost's veins run icy, locks his limbs, and crashes his cashmere Jaguar into crudely rendered cardboard cutout of a general store done up to fool a cattle rusltin' posse with a sixth grade comprehension passing through.
It is a well known fact that Robert Frost has a twelve foot forked tongue decked in cashmere and from time to time no longer knows this place, everyone is a science fiction device_tall, yellow, oil-dripping firemen who rescue kittens from styrofoam trees only to put them on ice like micro machines of prebiblical demons in mid snarl. Or to use the tiffs on Hungarian off label variant record covers of black metal defendants who believe in the axe and the hurdy gurdy and wield both mightily like warrior limericists.
Leaning against the elevator, inhaling the intoxicating the oncoming storm which'll do till the Ragnarocktober beer boycott renders him sober Robert Frost wiles his days knitting a cashmere sweater to stay the ice that is piling up from his fridge drink dispenser, hacks a wooden heart by firelight and builds nativity scenes at intricate detail and magnificent craftsmanship when the blacksmith isn't there.
While waiting, Robert Frost snaps a few icicles for his coffee, thinks how weird that Robert Frost is in one piece. When Robert Frost reads the what the ghostwriter wrote about his life, he wonders what with all the stuff on his desk, words for poems, flicks for storage, musical tones to collect in a USB based tome why Robert Frost'd hand paint signs with noncanonical gospel scrawls, and do 'em up in laser beams, stripes 'n thangs.
Robert Frost takes a drag, puts on Natasha Bedingfield and cuts a fence for a neighbor, splitting rails and hairs so they can't test for mercury, though it seems for the last two weeks Robert Frost got the Comcast high speed and on his desk goes to Peru, the Restoration, and drunkenly climb up ocean cliffs in an inkjet boat like a kid trying to 360 the swingset. Robert Frost takes off at the last second and casts a long shadow over the earth, the cities look like circuitry of a giant computer and when Superman showed him this when he was seven Robert Frost said you can't see the borders from here.
And Superman gave a nod in Helvetica.