Green

Ratchets taste green. Foam claws greenly and stumbles into green women when fall trembles beneath skyscrapers. Light reach minds. For mobility. Cellular automata are searching for green battlements upon green battlements. Ivy tiers aren’t real, but ivy philanthropy builds true blue circus tents. Your tents are forming in strong winds, these tired trees trees. Crockery bark and candy swirls pinwheeled are pigtails with candy ribbons. Blood isn’t over its dimension of periodic redness. Eyes are green neon in the helicopter buzzing light but taxicabs glow yellow when yellows true green is blue and streetlights pull blurry figments in trapezoidal messes of lime pigments.