Swiss smart pants are impossible to live with.
My friends, who are all dead, are blazing in the obscurity of strangers.
400 warriors are foraging for lost beetles.
Jars of apricot jam are hanging by their hair from the trees.
A gathering of horses are really quite pretty.
Milky stars are giggling furiously.
A collection of disjointed limbs are my best friends; ok, you too.
The outer edges of the universe are pink and busy shaving.
A holy swirl of jackanapes are of enormous vorage.
Dead or alive, all inhabitants are away on a tantrum.
A pile of fake banknotes are eating my brain.
Sleepy horses are changing the subject, constantly.
Ferocious leaves are in the middle of the swamp.
Entangled limbs are kissing violets in the garden.
Spinning apes are in a hurry for dumplings.
Surrealists are not present; who knows if still alive?
The biting fish are amongst the stones.
Drunk tennis players are squealing like fish.
All the snails on the seashore are hiding on the balcony.
My regiment are asleep on sofas.
A hundred silver fishes are awash.
A secret gathering of roaches are immaculate in their self-presentation.
Discontented spirits are inevitable.
Seventeen angry camels are forgetting how to speak.
Josie, Mattias, Merl, Patrick, Paul, Sandra
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