R/ckets and S/ntries

let's face it, nearly every thought has been overdone. this you/me thing goes overboard at all turns. history gangling falls over itself, never very effective. the space between words grows looser by the moment, and moments themselves are suspect. pages seem to be viscous, visible, vivacious, vain, varied and venting, yet no relief ever comes forth. the triteness of words, and their willingness, just cause romantic injunctions. most causes aren't effects, but we pray to them that way. final theories always seem to come up short. George W Bush is president, apparently.