sean decker

Ha Ha Ha…

And time fizzles into the female crashing behind the broken couch in the Art Linkletter photo shoot.

Meanwhile, pollution races up the calf owned in part by brushwork and a thought.

Limping to position, space howls "I need shape" as its weapon impersonates the Kung Fu master-no pebbles.

As night binds those gods responsible for nothing less than amplification and tyranny, creation regurgitates the flood, and the flood spies the dove with a rose, a letter for the president, and a phone number:

1-800-ANI-MALS