Bardic baritone, blaspheming the banal blasé unblessed, oil rig blaze, crackling:
Plastic, lost its plastic, and cracking, leaks, and lets out a groan, a voice of moan, a shriek, to peek, the voice a drone.
Oil in the ground, voice of monsters, grinded in a daily grind, under pressure, PRESSURE!
Rip Roaring voice to lift up a dance, as a breeze from an underground vent lifted up Marilyn’s romance,
Bardic baritone reciting an oily love poem to a Barbie Doll, the poem blown up, like a balloon, or a condom, the Barbie herself, compact, snug, not at all snuggly– but smooth, the tempo of the bardic baritone oil lubricant smooth; sleek as plastic wrap, and as silken as any grooved vinyl,
All so smooth, also blown away, as when, oil rig blaze burning uncontrolled, petro without contro, dynamite is used, a crackling horn of Gabriel voicing Venus on a half-shell, shell voicing. Voicing these voices:
First, the voice of the ocean. An ocean muttering a murmur so gentle, so loving. Ancient vegetative matter underneath, eight miles under water, is lulled asleep, into a dream of black gold, oil.
Second, the sound of this oil, underground, under ocean,
Even the synthetic hair of the Barbie Doll crooner is smoooth, smothered smooooth. Blown like a blown? Hot the air, at 98.6 Fahrenheit, the synthetic hair of the crooner’s nasal passages, smooth.
No condom or condemnation necessary.
Oil, moist, moist emolument emulsifier, up from the ground– a ground which once been ocean floor. A Barbie of the beach, perhaps Malibu beach. Count a cantor of Cantorville, Texas; or Port Arthur, or Port Alex, Texas. A Malibu Barbie. A Malibu, Texas beach. A moist baby doll. Wet. The moist baby doll, silent, smiling, voiceless, cheerful, not morose, just not very talkative.
The voice was of the little girl playing with the doll.
As, back in the day, when Alex Jonz-Joned-Jones fondled toys, probably cop or soldier, boys o’puppy dog tail not to fondle “dolls”, meaning Barbie. Not interested. A lot of dolls in those days, had a bardic voice. To access it, you pulled a string, which was in their back. There was a plastic loop attached to the string. A finger, inserted into the loop, then a tug. Not necessarily a fondling tug, but a tug. No ocean tugging, though wind did howl– A hurricane to blow up a condom, or a balloon, or a balu,
A voice erupted. Dolls’ voice?
Bardic moist voice, baritone, bass, chase, moist Alex Jonz-Joned-Jones voicing breath spitting, into the microphone, blaspheming the spittle, hitting the electronics, and delicate plastic “internal” membranes, and “internal” diaper dapper diaphragm graceless lack of plan, or form, banal blasé unblessed, oil rig blaze.
Spam of Human Affection 
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