Saturday, September 04, 2004

my father is lost
in the colour
of resevoir
there may be a
day intended
by trees and the
wind thru them
and the beginning
not the end
of sentences
if I am
brave enough
to remember
who can tell
the colour
of other
sentences and
when the wind
starts to pick
up like this

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instead of something travelling the bliss of over roads again, instead of natural marsh across from your eyes, instead of taking parts of things away, the caustic and slope field meaning lost a way, it doesn't shift after half the time but poses probably while the facts entail, such a stiff enforecement of logic as a means to relent, coast is clear, the children rescued or killed to perfection, a privacy allowed us together in the eyes along the way...

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lining up in an arcade to dream of other flights. the tense of the moment, looking casualty, breaking into diffidence while the peaceful throng. inside every arcade a list of being out of touch, lots of processes to carry, children docked again. featured in the arcade a closing topic, stunt fun, mention this or that until it's all just provable. a holy regatta of form and tells us school report. how's your child in being? a necessary evil builds fine product and trudge, then each word goes a little random. space becomes an utter mob; we have enough to entail; our jury stinks of limping: alas in the cushion of the resounding stoppage arcade, when the children aren't a little more. a jerk and kindly read about the morning, mooring after engaged. that's what the aliens mean, when they carry what they mean.

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Thursday, September 02, 2004

several distances lay on the floor, the chirp of autumn over a ritual moon fence. my own humble swerve equals many paints in the process. I don't tire except to say there are name on the bridge. even seeing that Berryman took a caustic view, and waved, alas, before leaping. well, the aliens are in need, arriving by rocket in the nick of what they call time. we call it the stretched out effluvia of light, our purported friend. the web of indifference smooths over the finish in which we've discerned some spectacular arrangements. the next sentence, surely, will be a doozy.

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Wednesday, September 01, 2004

let's go back to the history of funny queries. a state becomes law, you rinse your mouth with delight, taxes seem like expressions of a kinder attention, then it seems like it's time for bed. is that about the gist of it? or let's go back to the alien infractions, which seemed to cure the sun's misapplication of our forms, which stir ardent rivals, which seem like the last gesture of all. have we inherited a talent finally? suggest a motion within a sentence that you yourself could write or speak. do you go back in memory again? won't you ever quit?

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Tuesday, August 31, 2004

as per arrangement
squadron and
denial sold for a gross
convention weight,
while easement frame
function needs
a fresh new taste: how about
a relaxing tramway thru
parking doldrums, all those
referred distress
signals meant as
warrants on the glass,
and meanwhile
I am George Bush
for a certain country
until ripples in
the excellent Himalayas
supplements my
'other income', all
mirage need a
home, not just
a loan

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Sunday, August 29, 2004

reactions in the desperate exchange itself, blues over crystal telling, that makes advantage, that stays in gear. these chubby moonbeams light the way for armies at a stretch. we're negative all the time instructing how the change can melt. our populace syndromes move across the street when Sudan rises. we haven't a piece of Nepal left to burst. no use discussing causative Afghanistan, while scrambling for details. luck made Iraq a gesture. so what was being told, in the smoke over, while crushing particles again? the same name the aliens gave, stupid.

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"I risk direction with every report" says the beginning of a mountain trying on the new release. these politics seek savage sake of emptying for the call. there is no Sudan, just a trail over there. when we buzz, we buzz for good.

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