this verse is a striated heap wherein I'll, in this mantle, well up, a thrall to the lupine eye, which, remote and rapacious, yokes a pattern so infinitely tiny, spieling, spilling chimerically, the skies, the skeins of the misbehaving sisters.
----- Original Message ----- From: "Harrison Jeff" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> To: <WRYTING-L@LISTSERV.UTORONTO.CA> Sent: Wednesday, April 05, 2006 3:55 PM Subject: The Prospect, Lackadaisical
this verse is a strayed hope wherein I'll, dismantled, dwell, unenthralled, and like the moon aloof, and with obscured glee, upon space raised huge by pines, spelling, alphabetically, the skies
