Friday, September 10, 2004

being inside the drone of door and forgetting each sentence even as spoken. then a perception as red as quiet ink, referring any ways at all as close. then being same in a text, reading left to right mostly. then the change as begun, notes in a flute, the pouring of drums. then a peaceful march into Nepal and Tibet, brash investigation, the whole nine yards. then the rules for richness, squired while protecting, looser as documents show. and all the while languge, the heart of the matter, presumes the sport of night. we'll land shortly, the aliens say. they mean that they will begin sometime, in our time. we've only some in words to go. then a paragraph, whatever that might be.

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