Tuesday, June 01, 2004
watch this for perhaps of zest. of all spray of affection, while transmitting this pool of anger, looking in and at. and transfer makes a mangeable funstion, a trick into the night time look along. it's even to say something brilliant on the coast, forsaking the rest of poetry's humanity for the delectable peering claim. this is meant as muscle in an age, tho we all wear down apace, and what will the score be, applied real soon? the crimson sun dashed into its dull hole for the night, what else is proclaim? chattering with the effort of fineness, in all the whipping on that makes us notice. here's a chronic something, quite a vegetable patch. what'll I do now? says the poet. perfect picture of floating.
Comments: Post a Comment