In the train, icicles on bile bag

Collect spontaneous outbursts of iggle-oggle creativity. Sad face Pa,I am leaving again. And the face turned 180 only to bare buckteeth. Then started off the 1600kms with Binah, Abana, Sekhmet and Ms.Lilo dally. Around those oblong elliptical silhouettoes and bulging bile bags consuming ever more, burping sounds from a distant universe. You just want to hush em off and empty your bile bag. Or-kid-ium all around, icicles rubbing up against the skin, a rough wry pimply wrinkled face and the train still jerks on. It moves a little, shakes you, rocks the cradle, balances the timely falls and moves on. Enough you all morons around feeding attention to a pack of cards! I marched out. Beyond the travelogue frame scenes of green and brown, the eye fixates on patches of blue. Blue in the sky, water and then turning grey, some blue spattered suddenly on your hand, in the crevices of those black nails. You see fluid, plasmic, orgasmic, color! Bursting peals of laughter around as the feet long to live the becky dream of running on the black soft mud. Imagine winkle, if orange peels grew on olive creepers and cried indigo tears all day... Flaming red brittle strands all wet in an inundation of sheer heathen ignorant joy... Hop on a train and jump before the destination. You ll feel like me! A run away!