Birthrate Report 2008

GOVERNMENT REPORT ON THE UK BIRTHRATE: They take our babies. With every sighting an opening of tongue red flowers drop off, one by one pale yellow solution in the tin bag, for tea time the switch of music snapping in your ears “deathmetal disco” they it called it you it and it moved, through the dark, on the waves of cords and melon lisping down the aesophagus, like a wet asparagus thin cord of metal and glue dangle there picking up soda and lime barf your wreak into the wreckage, like a dippy cake tin, melody allusive and perpendicular to the ground, a safe place, a warm place when it was needed be across the wave, a black thing begins to creep like a shadow with the contours of a face but no features visible piranha in the inside of his eye, he is the dark prince and you’ve called him gallop, now what the fucking fuck.

PM RESPONSE: [see photo below]