Friday, September 26, 2003

trusted that segment that perpetrated a word, lever on the moon. the moon could be a staunch place to stand, to view outcome or inning. the very wonder of the orbic launch of inference and trust, to the grand detail smoothed toward language, and that language nulled to poetry. or broken bits of emphasis stationed at the ends or inside, to tell of some garbage time and the president at work. what matter of nation that makes us guilty, more than bad? the stuttering mission continues in a clank against the cell wall. powerless in this flop, and we need more attention. why are we winning? the aliens are no help.

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