First, there must be blood. Then, at two, a song, hummed in
quiet breaths and left to the wind. For three, to one without a face,
these words. Four, ever. And then the thumb.
I have tracked you through the winter of my dreams;
your scent covers the snow within my heart. You, though
unknowingly so, have led us here to die. I thank you.
This is the great moment of our assumption. Thought descends
unto our words as dew unto the leaves – we are sprinkled with concern.
The boughs of our sadder selves are heavy, but with what? Time
freezes all things but pity; this alone freezes Time.
Have you outgrown your history? You sag about it;
your eyes wade through the thickening pool of your dreams. Love, once
so limber within you, now sludges through your veins like ancient honey;
But do not worry, this is how it was meant to be. Things pass, lovers
come and go, but nothing never changes – it is the one constant.
So be not somber, nor concerned; meaninglessness began long ago.
Your purpose, if anything other than this, has been achieved despite
you. So go on, lead the way; tonight, we shall be free.
-----Original Message-----
From: [EMAIL PROTECTED] [mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED]
Sent: Fri 7/4/2003 2:22 AM
To: [EMAIL PROTECTED]; [EMAIL PROTECTED]
Cc:
Subject: Re: [X] A Word About Popped Corn.~~~~>(Watermelon Italian Ices)
bottom half-an-inch
cherry-laden icicle love
crispier than gold!
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