Thursday, August 21, 2003

there's a comfort sound in the even loss, short code for memory or wrapped. our sensation follows, stung or stimulated by pet names and the alien marshiness. the wet find is everywhere, and swamp gas is what we make of it. soon we deliver another can't miss, and the stars follow our collection. today's morning is generous and out of all, even as trees become targets for the impact that we've instigated. pressure builds, of course, and we relent to the news. something explodes with perfect equanimity and certainty lasts until the next broadcast. do I miss Idi Amin?

Comments: Post a Comment

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?