12.04.2007

Odd is Glove, or The Hand at War

I am strategically inanimate. Then
It is alone with me. Everyone on
The staff will have feelers and sacks.

That's the end that will be inserted,
Assuming you have no phobias about it.
The leaf and bough static is seriously fucking with

My pastoral containment strategy already, so
I see no harm in arson. Thank you for
Choosing us to serve your pet's health care needs.

A minimum deposit of 400 Euros shall be sufficient.
I am forwarded, without blank spaces, to make
Serious a-go-go in these overall derivations

Of the night. The rims of the stand-ins relax.
Sometimes the wind blows just right, &
I am able to smell you again. Just so you know,

The earth spins on its axis jack. It isn't that
Fever gets iced; it's just that flowers
In old songs handle one break

Behind the twilit mixture. Yes, there is
Nothing to it and this, paradoxically,
Heightens the sense of responsibility

We each have in the take-away intent
To be imputed by any user of the grid.
Their excuses boil down to polycrystalline.

My brother was born when Mount St.Helens
Erupted from his sister's skull. Asterisk here.
Footnote where? Their rifles have been

Taken overseas. Sermons on surfboards
Send leering phtographs of soldiers back home.
Sometimes the world turns just right, &

My stagger becomes straight. Runic grins yak
In detuned ebbs; tentative wickets thin &
Debutantes' cottonballs are softer at night.

Set high yell lack of odor.
Set loud abundance of color. "Theoretical"
In the sense of having no real intentions,

Interests, or motivation beyond
A bitter amusement at the notion
Of its being carried out and a

Not-so-secret joy at the chaos that would result.
Strum, there where lives go unfeaturing.
You know we know how to build a better beacon.

You can tell when s/he is faking. Whisper;
Your confidence is appreciated. Default
Guidance systems hug me too tight babe.