Tuesday, September 23, 2003

Motorcycle Irene at Dawn (click on image to enlarge) 

effort of exact tuesday, in sphere of narrative, which has control in mind. story control, with the Emperor's moping set for pictures. point at the proximate with certifiable judgment swished past ready forecast. appetite grows definition into business. business is the new poetry, floppy disk. business launch the perfect sensation, finest fettle of showing cause. workers stretch their truth under alien light. light itself is a barnstorm, won't be here forever. dark is a universal, pricked by monkey on the go. go is a word flung from the article and made, made again. effort on top of effort, switching lions into lanes, driving lanes into practice, poetry on the go! practice is a bitch. bitch itself is a 'word', and it encloses the rational landscape, just like fronds. the Emperor is the best of special, and will return from Paris to 'take control'. this Vichy soiree is documented in some books, arresting words for a day. clouds smear daylight while tactics have their own smell. smell is the definition of the landscape present in the least poetic idyll. left to imprison some gunk from the age: it's all work. work glows when read aloud by dynamic angels, who know the aliens well. is there a time peace here? the aliens are sure fetters, when we are so small. the optimal sky, the topnotch dicta, wax plenty and oh yeah, oafs plus high esteem, the situational politics of hunk of land. lapsed paddies, famine report. barnstorm on the ready, on word cult, and net binding feature. together in 'this', that much weighed in money, mood, measure. measure brings time to scale, the shoot out at the apex, where the betters can, etc. better yet, trudging allegory, to bring narrative from the cave. along for the ride, careering thus, implement tourney. gambit malaise, a melotron of smoke and systemic urge, like yesterday on the map. the map fits glory, topic sentence for the common weal. hovercraft imitates maximum, and such good as enable balloons of buffed proportions. seizure is where the child went, thrown from bicycle or colliding with neural makeup. or lift the father thru the end of life, the listing touch. or words prop the indefinite while we take our time. what pops into your head at this 'moment'? just a dark star relaxation, it's in the wording.

Comments: Post a Comment

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