News and Contests
A squid’s name is Gertrude
Squid have four classes: stomper, shooter, scout, and healer
The first battled Namor
The second was a gangster
The third was the leader.
The fourth presumably boneless.
Paris said, “I do not really like them to be art.”
Someone emitted ink from his hands and rubbed them into a composition,
but the abyss was disoriented at the time.
How many shades of blue can one person be before it becomes too tacky?
Style is hard when you’re dripping chromatophores.
But you have style.
I really like your junk, like, the way it outlines next to the zipper.
Beak by beak peeling open the insides.
Think of an erection as long as the mantle, head,
and arms combined, tentacles probing the outerlayer.
You spawn mythology.
I wanted to be a mermaid when I was young and was sad when I learned I wasn’t
Then when I was ten I got a telescope and learned literally all the
Squid are excellent space travelers. Cutting new frontiers with a
fistful of photophores
I’m afraid of revision, the morphing lanes of text,
but a squid is especially efficient in case of high traffic.
A squid is also melee weapon, capable of action, and not gridbound,
so put a greasy fried ring around that tongue and call it commitment.
I love you so much I would choke.
I would gag on each one of your arms just to feel your squishy insides,
your suckers down my throat.
The only parts that can’t be eaten are the mouth and the pen, but
romance is illiterate anyways. I mean, can you imagine being
cooked in your own ink?
Your blood tastes like metal
squid can detect even neural activity.
I like your messy head today.
Your eyes are so large and beautiful like a vertebrate’s.
I want you to know I would mount all three mortar barrels
while they thrust their depth charges and then rotate 90
degrees for reloading because baby,
that’s love with three hearts.
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