Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The better world concludes dominion with wings spread across asserted deserts. Wealth was fizzle, rolled into news feature when the snow started falling. Years broke into bedrock, the sky failed instrument. Long Knives with history element broke free, thru marsh, wandered. Everyone suffered then, but the British backed off. Native elements surrounded various centers, turning towards conclusion. The sun melted the sky. Trees were years worth. Fires broke out of cages. The document, then, became the word for dire. Every ritual seemed reedy and thin. James Madison tried to compound with Hamilton partnering but the papers flew across the room with every gust. Tired, the people stopped for a moment. Shay’s Rebellion, Whisky Rebellion, stuff. A poised public took a beating. We were left on our own…
In the moments of later event, the deathly ones, with cold and the air thin as daze, we wandered, Excellent English, Yeti and me, in an inconclusive story…
Why hasn’t the town filtered thru other spaces?
Worms of this edition seemed sparked by dubiety.
A Klingon sang on the front step.
Pitch black resembled the last inception of the dimple. We lived in an environment of change and vacuum, one after the other. Which one was first?
The town wrote decrees into bedrock, just like satisfaction.
The endeavourer of our time swats at whisked fences.
A tension occurs within the preamble, which startles the audience.
The hills of the town suffice, in an odd policy way.
The pulse of grey skies fills intention.
Our triumphs are townwide, our failures fettered close.
Another Klingon sat on the front steps to say, Stay.
Prisons resume economically.
All Klingons forcefeed traditional implementation of ideological crack.
Clerical errors remain in the document, a triumph of human endeavour.
The nation feeds of fealty.
Whippets flock to snowstorms like instruments of change.
Orogeny takes time, “they say”.