R/ckets and S/ntries

believable rockets began inside the code. work grew densely, half bucket, half pleasing. the end part of segment was elbow room for our peering pressure. units weren't even becoming. we sent at the same time with a chorus for distance. no 'St Nick' remained, no pungency, no radical timbre. we were just the colour of backing away. was this a playful scheme or more from the voice of sentries? that's the battering for tomorrow.

lists traded to death. seizure
of rockets for laughs.
stroke of midnight
imputation. we live
in testament canyon.