Monday, October 13, 2003

this is loan life, a bunch of rocks. the edge is mention, that perturbing of visual impact along vested sight lines. quarry seems unlikely, running the green ridge into instant. this is backpedalling for the aliens. they've got game. they spoke on pleasant term while we read significant passages. crisp assessment fell on ears, into a rich loam, and slowly with time. the rocks were and are just as able for us as the priceless. people coming to 'terms' but that's a laugh in instinct. language popped a gasket but came back. language is whole now. the aliens were preened and prepped, and the day felt wild. we said words, not poems. we said direction, not tremendous. there is a turnpike thru guttered land, of course, and a run along the ridge. the hills are blue and green, with instance as trial. people will read what they can, and no more. the aliens unloose a gesture, as an easement. activity in this plaint is fire thru docket and dale and everything else we can list. rocks can be tossed into the hole, for memory can be that distinct. district manages creep toward the edge.

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