Sunday, June 8, 2008

The Grandfather of the Group

Spiders in ray light occur in chance. Raffles of what Olson said, in the doom of thunderstorm, on the offshore and laid to wind, spent a day to explain. People in Worcester staked claim, leaves in trees, and a position to thrill. The love call is work of radiant offing; clouds dodging bending with science in exclaim. Who cycles back when the twisting storms touch down? The forest is leveled, the natives topple, small pox is a fragrance.

Our love, a gantlet and then, but more nature than a tryst. We have kissed, and will again. This news settles when Olson, a poet, comes home. Home is freely heightened. Its language is secure. Now the names and now the commands, pouring over the landmarks while sleep concerns Aztecs. Language equals words.

Poised relentlessness caves in to documents spread over time. Time, the rival sister, shuns that opulent task of engaging Oscar-winning star clouds. Push comes to shove, and delivers. Our friends constantly wonder at us.

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