R/ckets and S/ntries

village of rain difference, that claim on deserted sand, those federal cases, the rush to impersonate while falling, a curative pinned to the wall, ill ease and saying 'well' instead of 'good', a whole process waiting, an excuse while humiliating, stuff and overwrung, a pill will do...

earn distraction
hearing now
the checkered wait a minute
sculpted while you ask:
Iraqi nameplate
lost exercise
graded byte farm
noodle pleasantry
far side web sum
chopping sounds in ex-forest
word hop
news clown
frigate paints a difference
picture

aliens learn binomial but will not teach. the fins of fish flip liquidly, but aliens don't consist. these aliens, doors and latches. under guarded testimony, we exert that here's a war we never meant to have. the aliens click and shimmy in the wake of something quite unique. it isn't music exactly but it isn't not. so we seem to roar when we read some books, and the aliens bunch together. a loser ratio spurns our work, which isn't work and does no good. what are we to do? we squawk, wondering how we got this geo-political situation. we're proud and delving, loopy, dreadful, soaring, whatever, here and now. isn't that enough, and the books we read as well? haven't we lyric moments to paint upon the sky, and gorgeous laity to sing expression? aren't we enough when we are language? who can tell? the aliens say, exhausted.

I have not
bothered
with the
appropriate date
of colours.
the maximum
has drifted.
these sharecropper
words know
visual cues
into view.

too much taint in the workhorse, tho telling this doesn't separate a mild willing from the wandering cause. effective victims produce a subtle preening, which naturally instills a nation for the budget. that willing of how Iraq at one time and call the pope in, telling over and over off these rumours. we're able not for love, generally this is training. it's the language of guttering, wonder how the weight. frequently a nation needs a notebook, scribble scribble, tending towards the anger.

talking roses to the
bottom of
emotion, at
the bottom
of time, in
closing statement
while the whirled, in a fashion
read from boxes, open door
policing, that the could of
happened yesterday
was silent in the dew, not
dew in moments
but a raise of
air, unlikely
as the rose
in tune, in
guttering and
cooling, as a
rhythm precludes
a stoppage
while foraging for food,
a doxology later
then a frame for
telling, on the ending
love and
beginning with a wheel,
circling such as this
the aliens own the world

freed miners in the central part of American myth, leading out from inward as the stretch makes clear, there's an economy out there and it is making me, and then the rain fetches high prices thru the air, far into the storm of spring, and for all that warring the aliens can't be far away, their observations need a little more time, and maybe a word or two

like to slack
on the open
market
only the time
will tell

Athabascan
mescaline
want you to
come home

can't expect terrible but invite terrible to the door. as door reminds us of slave rate, of practice on the bias, on overdose until, then that's the sheer rhyme to execute in minutes. then it is more terrible, nothing to lose. we sat out all that in an excuse, ruffle of spring day and that battle line. we could examine all circus strokes, in the margins of letters writ for beauty's sake, while still a margin report remembers us to one and all. there isn't much that isn't much nowadays, all can be sent to the doctor for a full detail play it all yourself. this is so smooth!