Step Inside (Other side of street)
I was so ready to spit off the cliff but my mouth was dry from standing on the edge for too long as a spider he climbed and he climbed before drowning in what wasn't there. A ceiling span spins over your brain under the fan over your brain which sits on your shoulder like some sort of fruit, while your heart thuds away in the depths of your machine, sending blood swirling like oil that isn't quite as fun to drink as the rooves fall in on our side but everything's fine on the other side of the street.
A number two pencil begins to unwind as he turns on his electric equipment protected and lights shine on the road that the truck was driving on it would have gone to Hoboken if it had run out of gas which doesn't taste as good to drink like hamburgers in a blender like fish in the punch bowl at your last party where you made 7.689 new friends all of which you added on Facebook though you don't remember any of their faces just their bodies, there shoelaces decorating the other side of the street.
Where or where has my favorite coffee mug gone, or where or where can I put up a poster for my favorite coffee cup (gone) welcome aboard, have a nice voyage, spend the whole time in a chair as long as you pay gas tanks obliteration sandals furniture. I had a parrot but he flew away to another room and I was too lazy to go find him let alone yell to the other side of the street.
A man baked a pie and a cake they both loved the man. They hated each other because they were different or maybe because they were really the same and because they knew they saw the edges of the mirror they saw they knew in the middle of the road (mirror) and there really wasn't another side of the street just a reflection of this side this side and you see nothing on a paper except what you decide is there and I write nothing here that I didn't decide I would and a mind is full of cereal, bread milk and eggs. And a mind is full of cereal, bread, milk and eggs.
See also: Steppin' Out