Wednesday, October 22, 2003

alas the mountains are alien too, says some burnished elbow room wishing to be known. others who can hear trump the colloquy with bouncing radiations and sentiment farmed from sentence. such politics grows stumbling blocks of clear cities, spacious indices as can humanize even the most arcane of word choices. what is left is a deliberate canyon, far from the hills of West Virginia, far from the distrait convention of lives in green, far from the blur that blue gives making. the city slump brings indications. aliens veer towards express, as damage reports fester in the papers. the war was something cooling in our genes, now raises a fresh question, to the tallest heights of the best building ever. there we see such as can be made factual, and the grip of life in termination: the city as it beats and beats, tho the engine survives in rhythm tested on all. the green hills reach rugged naming, bouncing acrostic saviour in the time of meaning. the crush plays upon children made of tin, which was mined in deliberation. language jolts in showdown. modest clumps of grass remain. the aliens determine valence with modest supremacy, for which we are much obliged.

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