Tuesday, September 3, 2013

My Dad and I Have Shared an iTunes

If you hate Syria because it is mean, you are a guitar twice falling to the middle of open tuning forget it.

If you hate that time when the time was open to changing the monkey pile, you are red with a terrible grin.

If you hate the home of Syria while you relay the tempest of doubt, you have a backseat in every bounding bus home from halfway home.

Goads push empty sequence. You

are a wire. The electric

of naming the thing becomes

a moist pattern severely.

We rely on

the noise of

our sound cooling the

airwaves of resistance.

All everything is all anything.

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