Tuesday, August 26, 2003

this, said payback, is the chance and then. this is possible language, when 'the people' run a ritual conclusion thru desperate even. that war zone is a friable soil, but no one feels the dozens except in extreme of national trapdoor. may we all meet another who has slipped the choosing stroke and has, wasting, moved. everyone is not me, the call upon edges. payback utilizes smooth with church dressage, a gamboling amongst those overtures we call friends. national friends are times in sunset, in the wobbling gloom and then, oil fields my finest friend. that political hacking sound is poetry loosened from terrible redeeming. and the powers themselves are chuffed for phlegm. power means tune out, means menace, means a nation in disclosure. but when is cool breeze over the top? the top is systematic, is own and curling under duress. there's them and that, language is prison. there is something, is factual, is descriptive and forfeiture. there is praise and gulch. the new gulch sits in vocabulary, even now. my name is MOBY GRAPE.

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