Wednesday, September 24, 2003

Frat Boys Heavin' 

ghost of San Francisco loop, that varnished some table with purpose of telling one and all. that the noise is exuberence, as much as to say. and the yap of farmboy in the midst is pounding to level, controlled with neatest certitude. colours seeped together, culture collection. culture was a turnpike recently, has advantage in the smirk cuffed often. words being members of society, something is spoken. saying this and that, troubled and exhausted, while San Francisco remains exemplar, until something merrier happens. the probe crashes into Jupiter for a budget decision, sense of loss in three great dimensions. San Francisco, when there was that news, and sort thru other papers, other days along a situated line and practice. poetry's here, now and then. ghost loop holes up high. people are their condition, except in instances of not noticing the fallen tree. walk the gait of slur on sidewalk, posture on stage. lessen the frequency in an effort, a process that isn't recorded. the record shows alien interest right along, alien of movies and who we are totaled by. rascally rabbit bedding down while cat runs a rampage morning. tough enough? structure is a term limit. it's home for yuck. yuck was a quadrant of the circle, told you so. told something and didn't raise a temperature. told is war. war is after all. and San Francisco, the coast of history. no more rain from where we came. see how poetry has a big mouth, talent timed to specific interest group. San Francisco morceau mumble, bump.

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