The Wurgsome

Wiggled by the wash, the wurgsome waited angular, adjacent to the bagel nascence, anticipating strips of bacon.

West of Nerk and ssssouth of ssssslither, I bade the djembe all come hither. They roll upstairs or at least get high. Meadowthings might not get it. That's alright. It's allalright.

Wouldn't it be nice to be a boulder, with time so slow and seasons sentences. The moss would shiver colder but the boulder is wiser with its heat, or perhaps just sleepy with its needs. It doesn't sire new desire. It knows the sun and that's enough.

Waffled by the juvsome waiter, the wurgsome whispered to the menu, "what sort of sustenance can i send you? and as you wend down time's uneven river, what would you like me to deliver? menu menu, worth a quarter, what do you think i should order?"