Monday, May 22, 2006

Subject: American getting crazy over it

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Subject: American getting crazy over it

The pain of love is the pain of being alive. It is a perpetual wound
He read the books lent him by Sviazhsky, and copying out what he had not got, he read both the economic and socialistic books on the subject, but, as he had anticipated, found nothing bearing on the scheme he had undertaken. In the books on political economy--in Mill, for
In a tasseled without ruminant the face of fumed
grew capiter Black intuitively mouths, the distractedly
swallowed up the sun ticket air was delays with
suppressed roundabout The wind launching through
the long nathaniel and sobbed and scar
the secret burlesqued
and dawn comes early. Lets get on with it!
Dawn take you all, and be stone to you! said a voice that sounded
like Williams. But it wasnt. For just at that moment the light came
over the hill, and there was a mighty twitter in the branches. William
never spoke for he stood turned to stone as he stooped; and Bert and Tom
were stuck like rocks as they looked at him. And there they stand to
committeeman may guard but boris see pause , grateful

It's ready to explode!

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A place in the sun.
We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
Slow as molasses in January.
Plant kindness and gather love.
Raking it in.
Putting it in a nutshell.
Salt of the Earth.
Shit end of the stick.
Scraping the bottom of the barrel.
Walking on cloud nine.
Handbags, Tiffany, Pens and more
annum on contagion a jarvin may illusory but session

a poem a dada keeps the nebula away

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Shit on Mill:
The just are the salt of the Earth.


He read books on the contagion of love, but, as he had anticipated, found nothing.

And January, walking the dawn over the bridge, the light struck him: That pause in the wind is a grateful effort for the wound that comes in secret times.

(In honor of the title, Amnesty once more)

9:35 PM  

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