Thursday, September 04, 2003

jetty was a time, and the water cold as grey can be. in between times, the lucky lurk of seaweed, tramps sport. your residual is my definition. the water is a crowd, and it cools to phosphoresence when we are ready. bundled life is equitable, parsecs from the start. there is only a rock to throw, a lofty hesitation in the arm release but days go by and into every night. and it is this edge, of all edges, and the rude Martian glow on certain nights to stress a fertile field. we've weaved with words and the aliens found out. poetry is a tremendous masque and dowsing, daunting problem in commodious night or thru the half baked day when the desert is a run. what cares allude in the softening, the stretch of death among children. how we fail is our story. the water is as cold as nigh. wind from the mountain turns the head. descriptive moment lays before us.

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