Thursday, November 13, 2003

it was all right 

genius is a once word. people transformed into words written long ago, John Adams as participant while we wait for Jefferson to appear. terrible planning and George Bush, the native bank. some headline bespeaks modern convenience, and it loves language to death. that death will be picture slightly and solely, as cushion for deeper response. that something is while isn't, just then the door opens. an alien or a remark, and all changes. the narrative faction needs a line to hold. it is all of us, trumping sentences then fading. later generations will need more steel, an industry of making dew. smoothly mist gathers in the hollows, tide of morning and too bad for the loss of fill in the blank. it was a cold morning and strict with ill ease. we ride the car into the hills.

today a portal but then it stays. there's a going placed amidst each static close. firm words once, in a dim long ago. in the prop of pasturage, where cows sulk for anything, we drive our bargain. landing is a skill.

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