Sunday, November 09, 2003

here's as much as clearing, said the guy, walking in from rancid elements. and the woman, structure poses questions. and the boy or girl, each a pellet firmed in logic, crusted, and spellbound. look, ratio of moonbeam and tripe, looser language crouch. look too: elbow room for train time. and look, it's glop on the foot of the statue to anything. and look further, but by no means the word. and the rocket, in landing, seems knowing. this is impossible, says someone in back. up front, the show is glorious. here's another plain sandwich, someone groans. and here's a deadbeat mark on my anything. the crowd grows torment, but it's only a crowd. here's the beat in the story about each. bull your way thru, perhaps.

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