From Him

He's so sick that he's dead.
He grows up and goes to bed.

Say what the time is doing.
It is from his overbearing.

His huge pool broke the deck.
I can't fit my hands around his neck.

Syrup bubbles cancer polyps.
Grouper couple barking orders.

Nobody is looking for fun.
Nicer demon descale service.

Humming birds are fecal terrors.

I got no grip.
I sure do sleep to slip away.

As I go, nowhere follows your heat.
Sinning shine of unwhelming sea stars.

I really embarrass hulks to eat.
Nubia forces reality into crime.

Bursa bruises drink synovial pouches.
Okay children games popularize death.

Very simple concrete shivers my forearms.
He pushes for a grease slit and never quits, because he can't.