Tuesday, September 14, 2004

the addition in morning slaps bending notes, that share our voice. we're small, like truckstops, when you come to consider the practical side of sentences. each road goes to a new desert part, with a dry feeling until the cages open. these cages include diners and casinos and a place to get gas for your chariot cooling. then you arrive in China, a fact outside of Vegas until you've grown. I come with you, of course, slipping on the sand and we watch the sky. there are things to say by seeing if the clouds. not too late and full of possibilities. the season now has weakened, which includes this very sentence. a circling sensation, and the aliens are a laugh. we're up late with the signs of something, commotion bringing us a releif of sorts. we're small, jaundiced, don't believe the rocketships will land.

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