Thursday, February 23, 2006

and so ...

Perhaps I never recovered ghosts from the
Sounds of ravens given air the
Sky tended to spill travel guise that
Resembled the thirsty travesty game they
Hid within groans phones stank of them
Crashed to ring simply dishonestly this
Metropolis of summer whether, fine!, it's with
Whatever assails phases you into

False dreams of a rose choosing love if
Radar blips canker darker in eyes where a
Picture emerges rages as high as if
Matter itself paused warding the end off.
Never comes goes this cloud-waving into
Future, no force worse than time, is

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