Thursday, October 21, 2004

he dead in a minute, inside the bell of horn. she dead, lifted, it is all so plain. they dead and that's a natural sound. the mournful hum and all of language on the brink, almost a word to say and more. but less to carry, always, falling off the trait of log. expression given in a word of almost meaning some kind poetry that means us to the core. we aren't the people for the test, it seems, too sad of the harping on and on, tho in the distance the ringing sound...

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