Monday, November 17, 2003

defend you, it's a dull appreciation of rain over the crest of some last word. look at the tall syllables, and I am for you. as I talk the static, something lumpy in the air. bad sun stuff leaps out, endless array and tell you where to reach the gesture, or the gent's room in a hurry, or specious statements filling space: are you allergic to the war in Iraq? that was the day.

furthermore and no more death than relief, the pile of keep the light on so no one slams into me. it's a piece of something age recovers only partly. talking it over makes sense, wherever you are

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