Saturday, February 07, 2004

so the rich collapse. their bankers stare in engine, how they work. so their brilliant sentences settle on a lawn, unmovable and certain to defy. but we look at them, rich as green came over the hill one fine spring day. we were robbed, they say, as losing is a structure on which to peg a lateral move again. we think how loss defines our next day, and figure we can't relate. do they still have saturdays where you live? we ask as parting. is breath still part of your sentence? the rich reply.

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