Tuesday, August 26, 2003

the wreckage destined from a moment and then reverence because time has pieces. stare at wreckage in the moment and then a little outside. people are such a thing that when there is speculation, there is a place. even a simple stop will be new, while shifting with threads that seem to mean. if someone sends consequence into the world, with interest or nation, then the day reels for its centre. seems to stray on the ontology because the word was wanted. no one thinks forever. there's just a few pieces to gather, looking like the sand that was there, shoreline. but there are other differences, culled form a whistle in the distance, that could distract. so much to align with so much else.

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