[EMAIL PROTECTED] wrote:
oh my goodness: my bungbag molt, my fart huffed silence (no kidding!!!).
Bob, how do you accomplish these works? do you cut and paste a pile of
John's phrases and razzle dazzle them together or what? you should write
about John's work because you obviously intimately c
this actually is a great answer. it really is up to the reader to render
the experience. your work is so striking because you have such an
attitude toward and regard for each word.
[EMAIL PROTECTED] wrote:
Allen Bramhall:
Thanks for reading, and your comments.
Sheila Murphy asked me to
we sit in the karmann ghia
mommy says that I want to
grab its fin and swim too
She will be that in four days and
five hours I say that as a mom
of superfreaky beautiful midgets too
i can never drive it we only get
a ration of three hours a month
in the sphere for the whole family
mommy says its VE
on a day in 1909, or some such, Ezra Pound writes to Wyndham Lewis, and
the course of literature as we know it changed, roughly beginning at
Point K or M and traveling a fine curlicue before coming to a Point not
yet named. the two great writers divested their impediments for minutes
on end, ci
I wanted one ton exactly in these colours. the rain of settled charged
could then step in as a war on proverbs. war itself is a proverb, and
dogs die. my dog, a rich cream of wonder, settles down. we rain. violets
stick in the lawn, when they can have time. reasons secure residence,
then honour
more words came across. a figure in blue called. it was our love in
definite term. when did that happen? first, a jet of impressiveness
swooped and telltale, seemed like a crash. all that erratic meant
something. watching was an involved moment, you'd want to describe. we
both figured in this t
dear,
we arrest in something, yet ponds
bubble emotively
with unions of algae, which seems
such a tease,
because avast as snow covers
an inch of the entire world and
death lurking with prisms,
and love serious for scores
along the shore, where air meets water,
water rises to air, air seems to
inv
one little rat called waking up rose out of its spurn to tell
goal-oriented and total. total wasn't really in. it said sentence but
sentence couldn't quite end. what's the process of that? poem goads on a
thorough trope or anyway a baked ham. ham means that jim starts at a mid
point and goes no
the lurid light from
Fu Manchu's eyes
includes rendering
cinematic
the portion of
resistance known
as political or
The Man
we chomp
on something
reflexive, possibly
the robe of
understanding,
or likelier a
stable world
view
we challenge a
crash test, in
which information
rode to its
doom, yet
fi
not to relate them too carefully but I thought this work fits well with
the UFO stuff recently posted. cool stuff, both.
Cecil Touchon wrote:
New works added to: http://suprematism.org/touchon002.html
Comments welcome.
Cecil Touchon
http://cecil.touchon.com
817-944-4000
Fu Manchu, dilettante of evil, his mercantile probation always alert. he
crows the false love with most eager prying into the world. his world,
he rose above the namby pamby lumpy static placidity. he scores. the
poem, prime force in a language, or yet today, stops in a threat and
buries itself
there's a remarkably pleasing feeling of idiocy looking at this site and
tapping in searches
Bjørn Magnhildøen wrote:
for the backwords
http://www.alltooflat.com/geeky/elgoog/m/index.cgi
the overarching eyebrows of Alluria Scandelle rose to fever pitch while
latest news arrived with witty parts cut out. there was something fixed
in the idea, like a beau ideale, actually, tho not so swarthy. experts
from all ways of life poured to beginning. Alluria Scandelle swished her
richnes
text remains, tho voice stiffens. perhaps a person will be aware that
Andy (someone) died. settled on what could be imagined, left it at that.
then the soft rain sometime for future. then a luffing wind, to produce
a deed. then still pictures that burn carefully. then an electric lamp
fizzles.
this is lovely tho I feel there should be some way I can make $20 millon
(US) from this
Bjørn Magnhildøen wrote:
Zero/Madam,
Dear One,
I am too very delighted to have you tree leaves by my side, for me it
is the only way I can get to you after going through your profile,
considering my present
Lanny Ray Quarles wrote:
reactable: basic demo #2
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPG-LYoW27E&mode=related&search=
this was compelling. you could get swallowed up playing with that thing.
thanks.
lumpy placidity --
reflexive cues precipitate
the emotively charged touchiness
of ham temerity
--Bob BrueckL
(all words from Allen Bramhall poems)
I too am honoured. I think you've reinvented Stein.
cha cha requisition disorder
consternation among panelists
pumpkin popularity conflicts
strict Miami Vice probation
ocular nob button funny stuff
A Passage to India gnomes forensic site
kacking sounds debate
comical entropy
underwater festoon rebate
Hamptons payback lawn sprinkler
botulism for gir
A telephone with mighty wings flew into the President's head. No one was
injured. Why? Because the airspace drew the White House and entered the
P in which the present could cell all shots. It was trial and error and
stuff manse of legends. We sank into resident's news of the creation of
certai
Able and fatigued
sour mint Curie
ate bizarre volume
ode savior tied
fit sun hurt
commie ode Jacquelin
flippant inducement, flippant
à la porch
ode ma chamber
cell soul and
rain ode plus
Thwart! we in
thud-canning rhyme
grapefruit the ravelings
Allen freedom Oft
Scald Surfing scenario
rectum
The poem, listed on the Registry of Poems as “Poem”, grew nothing,
stayed there.
Alien mixtures of hydrocarbons, dimity and sand. Piles of wordplay
scored from prehistoric rocking. Stood upon the heads of greatness and
crushed. Trapped in a topic sentence with stellar warmth diminishing.
An
Poets call for improved marveling. Too many words left unregistered.
More lilting could do trick.
Exotic dancers cite location as imperative. Their sitting replaces
words. Words aren't properly situated. Time now to react.
Later agitation occurs with revelation of loss. Nobody meant to mean
Tony Trigilio wrote:
http://www.starve.org/usenet.html
"If you remember, I dropped into a comatose state myself."
Source:
Page 184 of WHITE NOISE
Keywords:
"giving," "hand," "engineered," "aspirin"
About The Usenet Project:
An "x" is
The transport of iffy poetry made people strange.A nuclear abbey in
language called echoes from teased ceilings with burning light idea a
transcription of just a lot. /When many congeals, gloom resumes/, opined
the abbot or abbe or Edward Albee on the Merv Griffin show. Or reason,
slighting the
Does the list of dying poems
stay on our date?
The day of equal rose and fell.
dad dated at this broach stayed
cold as the day.
We live in the trouble, words shaded.
A given settled on the vast last.
Every death exceeds a number.
Why do we cry in segments? a
piece of something else
reminds us of s
these chords, my simulated heart, make my father die while crying for a
day. these chords, a little warzone, pities the wife and child, the
people. these days, the night has a fat moonlight building to the end of
time. time ends today, my friends. these chords are correct and
lurching, breaking
Expressive sky, tolls something something, the tears present as muster
for the day
excessive sky of blurring death on blue, the sun seems to fall
saturation of that red that says nothing only time involved in alpenglow
tracks of zipping thru stars that stage moments and cringing, which we
tal
My father dad died
like that making
no news no
news being possible
just something
in the light
over the snow
pieced together
as a dull
ripple of winter
ending
a formidable
process and
child break
into nervous
distortions
same as when mother
and same as when time
firms up or
encloses
a simple rhyth
a crippled number fell
to the last colour. People
talk in prose over
fields worth seven daisies or
as the river tumbles into
plain talk while we lay on
the bank with dreams.
Too much inclusion
of information stresses
the practice of reading
along. Our heroes form
cartoons in nations.
Then rains th
Atop every difference, a label.
reading of this label enfolds news.
Lives of plankton adjust to
temperature. The whale shark
meanders with mouth
ope. 'Ope' means language
can look funny. Fu Manchu
will someday, he swears,
harness the power of. Now,
the whale shark weaves. Hunger
is the sense of
a
Bjørn Magnhildøen wrote:
To appreciate things I am not believe you want to your friends do
nothing, be done, and work.
Art is not need it over once a day.
A failure is a thing; it in on the man should be able to appreciate
things I am not a man who knows you that bullfighting does to do, hold
Sheila Murphy wrote:
beautiful! 'normed mercy' is a serious (tho lovely) ouch. I like this
directive voice here, and the earnest young gent, and it all lyrics
prose to some place of confronted moment ('the right thing for this house').
expand grease
pension into that
green setting, the rose
of document knows
the border of each land,
land concerns the feet
in strait means, narrowly
careful of meaning to be
in the same frame as
the text:
what could the
difference of
over the hill mean? a
graphic novel intending
more reddened
bloo
now in this figment or yet
allowed in government
settled by winking and
concluded too
with drifting off the edge
of the rim to the warm
lava below
in such aspirant image,
narrative, the force of
even this much information
or a trial of affirmation
within denial, to the steadfast
fire of inside ea
stun in finding
grave moon as
instant as a word from
edges defined by
tribal rites or
meaningless acts
those people seem
rocked by crude
oily remarks
that hazard unproven
elements of
the light from
said moon
the moon itself
as itself
reflecting something
else in time to
a practice of denial,
inv
this much blue-sweated surd, it
comes down from the sky
exactly, lights a grey bay in mind
the crease in season spends ruthless
flowers on snow that made it, we are trying
to accomplish our map
the dense leaves were challenging
as they rung from the trees
mere arsenals were so complete
as to pa
the same monsters, very strict,
step off the curb because
the parade must listen to them
the parade must listen to monsters
and their likelihood,
their hearts beat with
patient thrum of
good evenings with
president talk, you know how
that modesty inveighs
talk of monsters and the president
ligh
Organic stomp, Jurassic asshole, puddle strudel, minion dogma, eyeglass
torpour, poodle entropy, typewriter masculinity, disjunctive klaxon,
Klingon umbrella, anti-scorbutic pissant, scumbucket napkin, winking
slab, doctored pond, moonbeam slit, nice wag, cha cha querulous, impasse
bra, smut fe
nice one
phanero wrote:
http://www.phaneronoemikon.org/images/vibweber.jpg
Using the search terms "vib" and "assembly" and a few others I've
forgotten,
a unit became visible. I must admit, I am happy to make it. There is a
queen robber robin with a wolf crown, an goddess of the S, the imfamou
The spring is a destiny of shape, poised for vernacular, and we watch
the new water. The spring is also time sent back, calling, lifting
something fresh before further sport inspires death sequence or
illiterate runs of breaking. Language lives on the course of spring,
without the pace for stru
It seems so set in sun, bending
the beat facts with eagerness
set atop a trumpet or
lead a door on,
faced with abject lock
on the Star Trek pattern, children
presented a stern verbal swat, a
compost, a region, a chill,
based in boolean reflection,
challenged by care,
ornamented with violets that
below is the announcement for my book Days Poem. some of it appeared on
this list, years ago.
MERITAGE PRESS ANNOUNCEMENT
A Two-Volume Poetry Collection by Allen Bramhall:
DAYS POEM, Vol. I
494 pages
ISBN: 978-0-9709-1798-0
Price: $28.00
DAYS POEM, Vol. II
441 pages
ISBN: 978-0-9709-1799-7
llusive parts of the last sentence, calls frog music into play. Frog
music tones down into night, you might as well swim the dark. The dark
isn't tune itself but a membrane left behind. Your words are given. How
much more the words could entail just by being frog? Let the frog go. As
the frog g
The dog barks green, the earth of spring. In spring of all weather and
whether or not, the light suffers change of tree. Tiny trees begat large
rags and rages in each day. And soon a smile thru sunset gives a glow
but now we are dry. No drier to forget the teeming winter without
effort, and the
I know this isn't the juiciest of requests but it's important to me. I
am preparing a manuscript but have a problem. about 40 of the pages have
a horizontal line that I didn't intentionally put in. if I put the
cursor after the line and hit backspace, the line seems to move down the
page, defin
Bob, it seems like you go quiet for a spell then reappear with some
wonderful integrated change. this one's lovely.
[EMAIL PROTECTED] wrote:
Anus
Fodder of dead hours
indifferently humid
between my legs.
The dumb penumbra moans
in the inky shade of my fingerprints
unravelling the butt
Along all colours and inside
directed statements, pinched metre
as if you coud: you know the war
on durfaces, you know the
extent of dangling,
yiou know the
wind went away...
arrested ij clver days of
delight, yiou spend spring
in green doings,
almost drunk but
almost sober too
Want to make a diamond galaxy, out of precious neutrinos that were
kissed by mother up? Skip the verbs, you were always the noun. And then
the cage that existed in language, beguiling, drink off the water. The
last word in a sentence is the way it sails. If this excuse were
religious, you'd pin
no poem
better than
the margins
inferred
then write
poems
on waves
until
antecedents
crash:
expect
that vision
of perfect
word:
the sun
If is only the number, skilled as a swan: number two, which defines the
pairing, in a numeral world.
Territory is everything.
The wind as it sashays thru all vision and the very hair of our heads,
seems like a way to reach the ocean.
The ocean is a proud number: one.
One is deep as hell, hi
Face of dog that
triumphs in our
position. Spear
in lunge among
friendly Crusade
to define leftover.
sentence tied
to rhyme. Rhyme
invents capital. Capital
concludes moral equinox.
Stars survive as reminders
of pogrom, pogrom
seems a little
weakness and used.
Ages go.
People spend
as much as they
Vital crusaders in trees, frogs, sally forth against Moslem numbers,
pounding sound under desperate words, thru nights wailing springtime
green set forth. Sentence. The need to fight over walls of Antioch and
into whisper of century. How Turks fidget with crusading principle. How
long the years
effervescently pragmatic, team of years united. it must be a cold world,
to anchor us so. the war years are our years, except they differ not at
all from any other boil to be mentioned by the knowing. the days are as
long as they are abandoned, or do you agree in the valley there, dear
Reader o
[EMAIL PROTECTED] wrote:
love is a pretty name for what we could do.
I must say AB, this line has an almost Patchenesq ring to it,
and set into play a whole new filtering of this series.
lq
thanks, I don't mind echoes of Patchen being heard
Yeti for a moment, assuming moments exist. consult Yeti for being
secret. adapted as secret, the real word examined. this untelevised
event may undercut certain broad aspects. Tom Cruise becomes excitable
about how adjectives serve him. tears in his morass. Yeti strikes a
bargain, an amazing ca
another past begins daily. another leg of narrative employs its
relentless behaviour. narrative is for motorists but necessity makes us
work. our camp grows, which is a story right there. see Positively
melting snow for the condition of thirst. therewith also Empirical Noun,
a surd beneath seve
phanero wrote:
light thru Rudrayamala
Rudrayamala
mother fig leaf
Y halfyou made mein sane
all these noises flow back to you
Prapancesvari-Bhuvanesvari
creation
maintenance
destruction
i like the scrappiness here. the joy of notebooks for me is how scraps
and orts combine into odd integri
we rose in the great gust of gifted good morning. we ran the slope to
its downward friction, smack dab into all that we left. that was the
point all along, evidence (the tracks of our shoes) to the contrary.
stories always head to some plain of typical reaction. not to say that
we posed, good f
Maria Damon wrote:
this is exactly the MN mindset. folks who use a lot of words are
villainous. when i went to see the k branagh/e thompson film of Much
Ado About Nothing here in MN i had a v funny experience. Keanu
Reeves's first lines are "Sire, I am a man of few words." You could
feel t
Harrison Jeff wrote:
CHICKAMAUGA
O, the jollity
pleasures mask!
the jollity masked,
also with a dustjacket
of "Pack My Bag"
*
GETTYSBURG
the waters of Nanterre
(translation of two passages
from Madame de Créquy's
Souvenirs), yes, but there's
turf 'neath your tent,
same as any camper
*
MURF
phanero wrote:
this is nicely sustained, Lanny
when we become statues, we think of the sardonic wind (note: me serious
song parody), the varied deep of cold (note: written for the consumer),
and all the measures by which something goes into dust (note: being
pulled into the star).
our statues thrive as worse than forgotten (note: risk arre
Peter Ciccariello wrote:
What a truly fascinating burst!
Gotta read this again.
Thanks LQ.
-Peter Ciccariello
I guess I'm remiss in not adding my yup to the chorus. it's a
fascinating blend of the discursive and what's the word, perhaps I mean
contemporary and archaic simultaneously, someth
Lindsay Lohan for a moment exist. consult adapted secret, the real
Lindsay Lohan examined. this Lindsay Lohan may undercut certain broad
aspects.
Lindsay Lohan becomes tears in her morass. Lindsay Lohan strikes an
amazing cave, shouts fully over critically snowed boots.
tremendously extreme
cast recognition plaid judgment
abscond
intestinal
feudal hanger-on
offering frailty
paradox wide-eyed
appendage instructions
mistreat healer
feedbag
handkerchief
westerner viability
dream dreaming
mutually national
direction
unwritten studio apartment
mononucleosis parent
landslide
exceed
the deth of the peres of Fraunce began an association
with a bunch mood personality to change,
A Tomahawk Poem to lacerate the skulls of your enemies.
The wise man shal not take too gret comfort seeing
a welter dusting off my MC Hammer albums.
He Stomped on the Terra, and he left his elegant hoof
well, I aint got much rumination regardng process and what all to offer,
tho Jeff Harrison and I have coaxed a few glints together on our
self-interview blog Antic View. but I wanted to say a bit about the
list. I've been on it for whoa 7 years, thru its various mostly subtle
changes. it has al
oan Houlihan turned to see a long-haJoan Houlihanredfu-manchu LJoan
Houlihanmbo to the
"Banana Boat Song" "Thats Stoner rock man! ... lol A fJoan Houlihanrst
person narratJoan Houlihanve about growJoan Houlihanng up wJoan
Houlihanth a CaucasJoan Houlihanan [wearJoan Houlihanng a banana costume]:
Joan Houlihan, enjoying a delectable (and well-earned, I might add)
chocolate-and-mascarpone treat, turned to see a long-haired fu-manchu
limbo to the "Banana Boat Song"."Thats Stoner rock man! ... lol.”
A first person narrative about growing up with a Caucasian [wearing a
banana costume]: Joa
Sheila Murphy wrote:
BLUE LION BOOKS accounces FIVE NEW TITLES
myesis vol 1, Jim Leftwich
myesis vol 2, Jim Leftwich
Hotel di Roma, J Hayes Hurley
In the Weaver's Valley, William Allegrezza
Post ~ Twyla, Jack Kimball
for more information about these books
and ordering instructions,
please c
Harrison Jeff wrote:
A FRENCH CRITIC ON MILTON
she-she tomb
the Arquebus is fired by a matchlock mechanism
(a burning slow match in a clamp at the end of
a small curved lever - the serpentine. upon pulling
a 2nd lever - the trigger - the clamp lowers the match
onto the flash pan & ignites the
Excuse me soory but can anyone help me?
the entertainment oligopolists are not happy,
I took the armband off my
Motorola Walkie-Talkie.
“I, er…” Nick said uncertainly
desperately trying to keep his eyes
on an article about Uzbekistan,
"Maybe those awful Prokurans have
Lindsay Lohan locked up some
Jackson Pollock. Pollock's working assumption was that the wildness
of door latch. From all around us, noises join coincidentally at the ear
and,
control what happens, and one way to do that is to cultivate non-intention.
critique of actors who try to get in touch with their “deep” selves: “The
Marcel Duchamp spoke to me
during the course of the Second world
humans could not budge because
they had webbed jointless limbs
the science of apportionment
division discontinuity
the word “art” interests me
very much if it comes from Sanscrit
as I'm no prophet my job is making
windows where t
America why don't you fuck up yourself?
don't you see me walking down Great Road?
that's my time, America. your funky dude
mishap bombs the island of all Iraqi
ingested. so you need to be empty?
America why don't you
fuck your own merde.
the simple answer you. your doctrine
seems like an especiall
I saw he best minds of my generation, with mandibles scheduled and they
wore significant shoes and lots of pants and everyday they dreamed of
cottages full of crowing;
I saw hip Cingular phone callers like drainage ditches wearing stripes
thru their time, and envious rattles across their sense o
We are concerned citizens challenging the official
We are concerned over democracy in the US
We are concerned that this work appears to fall below
we are concerned about schemes and situations
we are concerned about the Texas border
We are concerned about the direction
We are concerned about radon
[EMAIL PROTECTED] wrote:
the open field works really well here. the airiness belies the density.
seems like you've made some great breakthrus lately.
We are concerned citizens challenging the official
democracy in the US
We are concerned that this work appears to fall below
schemes and situations
We are concerned about the direction
radon
we are concerned about how we use the people
by the almost throwaway
we are concerned there's only good mus
[EMAIL PROTECTED] wrote:
why do you call this open field you mean ala olsen or the spacings?
Olson used the term, but you can see the page as a field. Bob often
writes in dense blocks so this is a different use of the white space.
We are sconce rend citizen hale aging the office ail democrat racy in the US
We are conic kerned that this work apple arch to foal bell ow tic themes
and situ sons
We are co-concerned about the die recs on era don
we are conic kerned about how we tie the peso pile by the Elmo throw away
we are s
Harrison Jeff wrote:
this is wonderful, almost shocking!
when I say dad, the stem of the mountain waves. English is a perch, but
is the perch a fish? is a fish a word over and above how I remember dad
as dad? questions result in sunken parts of speech, and then I remember
that the wind blew like something straight. that straightness, it is so
Red Chi
[EMAIL PROTECTED] wrote:
the pitch of the perchfor allenfrom david
*_With death, love does not die…
_*
With death, love does not die,
We cry tears of deep grief for our own relief,
Memory is a bridge cresting on a special ridge,
With death, love does not die…
In each li
joist-Carolinian salvations run overjoyed depositary in Wilhelmina
making flarfing subteen -- Shannen in Arkansas googles college tech on
ruined techno zeppelin with erysipelas, jokingly telescoping zeppelin
sanity with system algorithm, muttering awakened devastations that gel
Connie Selleca a
on top of it all, the haze of certain snow lifts. straight train of
tragic information, but then the mountain looks as small as a table.
what can one read in the crying out alone when the sun isn't different
ever? that you make the list and the list makes you,m perhaps. breathing
creates some t
chaste mountaintop is all the rage. inklings remain free in sudden
direction towards the gulf between air and life. the Selective Service
(your friend) proceeds into snow as deep as trendy restaurants. no one
asks for rhymes in this cold, and the respect of dying out loud seems
paler even than
it must be admitted that the living room is smaller than the
mountaintop. the view is of a tree or something so close. snow loses
eagerness at this warm level and season, so nothing shrouds that taste
of beginning, even when it ends. the room feels lost in murmurs, people
sound their grief. gri
he striking word maintained its shape: cicada. this collectible word
wrapped around the vision of an insect selected by Lovecraft to overcome
the parental, pre-boiled world, stop closing out voice, and
finally. finally in the previous sentence establishes a fault line,
which, when ruptured, ex
[EMAIL PROTECTED] wrote:
In a message dated 9/16/06 12:43:38 PM, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes:
he striking word maintained its shape: cicada. this collectible word
wrapped around the vision of an insect selected by Lovecraft to overcome
the parental, pre-boiled world, stop closing out voice, and
phanero wrote:
This is a curious piece Allen, and reminds me of the odd aesthetic
inversions
of Roussel's plays. For example the 'why' of selecting Alfred Magdalou's
'ouvre sans pretensions' for its having been written on a picnic menu
with an experimental pigment.
and then to snuggle that kin
he the torment, when in even vast beech tree remembered state of dying.
state of loss in state of loss. a leftover practice endures with such
tantalizing contest of means.
profound state of wind in old beech, the arctic continuing as leaves
shed and nuts fall precisely because Flava Flav he s
beginning with the first tree and every succeeding one, until possibly
any tree will associate with the life of one person, to be named or not.
the upside starts to reverse. the blonde actress on Friends decides on a
different way of doing things.
Flava Flav does other things too. the standard
I will try once more without a tree in sight.
moments of ghastly shapes, timed to produce the most noisome of places
to stand, reek of utter Lovecraftian, until dinner time or ready for
bed. that's Lovecraft all right, blue go black.
The Yardbirds begin to step up their amps, pound a little h
and we just couldn't figure out, said Flava Flav, the god. we fought for
the colouring of leaves into this feeling, the definite and chemical
process as a signifier, to find some way in or out.
thus the god declared. and Paris Hilton, the ancient goddess and now
singing sensation, roots and br
... and searched high and low for the mysterious object,
after about two hours Joan Houlihan
found the box marked 'AMMO'. ...
all is explained, Joan Houlihan house,
large quarto, it's a carnival of latex
infections into the Tennessee Teachers Hall
Some 30 prisoners have fallen into
Captain Joan
hey, Allen Bramhall, it's me, Frank O'Hara, I'm the sun now. that makes
me a god!!! I'm as surprised about it as you must be. I rise in the
morning, in fact I make morning. I see you there, just you. do you need
any help right now? I can get it for you wholesale. haha, see
the sun wants you to give up. the sun has this thing, go on roof for a
moment to gleam some morning. also the sun tops trees for this
spectacle, again for a moment. what do you do, then? lay down on a
pronoun, perhaps. the sun needs more room than do you. that's a simple
point to understand. lo
here's a surprise, with capacious dread. the sky today, that was so
blue, has sagged, retreated, till only the last idea remains. the sun
was brilliant as a spectacle until when, then showed a strange trade in
documentation. words can't express the distance now being obscured. the
fault and umb
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