Monday, August 25, 2003

chance injunction whistles thru the parlour, a wind of innocence or seeming within the turn. someone's bunting thru, elsewise, caring for something that will have resistance. finally, an age of caution, mutters one, itself. and anyone can be heard to disagree, with practice, the nut brown tone of resilience. now we had sleep and now we had wake. surely the sky is considerable. the aliens, instruction of a lot, and where do they begin? some outermost of huffing, like the rest of us. but strange, and we've got a weight to carry. now the aliens are seasons in which there's a nation however disappointing and down time, something to think about as loss. the them of inference, within structure, called a sytem, boiled. didn't you get your degree YEARS ago?

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