12 Jul 2008


Facts are the first to the shovel. Bury the dream under the memory.
That day she swam you home, naked, next to the prelude. There will be no preview to look forward to, not unless nature's tongue is as grossly incurring as crimes under Saturn's watch. The crippled star hurled a stone to hasten us into our crash position. Dark drank the conspiracy from the edges like a victory on both sides of a birds eye view. The ill eagle prescribed a seat on a century swiped by the cashier , next week sanctuary finds it's doors locked and the locks changed as music spits out your thoughts. They do not taste good here. Nor did the market stall. oh, the vertical goddess in us all, a war unfolding the best bits we secrete. Numbers were wise not to betray you, have you thought about that? Nothing has to do anything for the sake of keeping everything alive. Just hurtling inbetween gazes and mutual attraction, the same bleeps and curses. The same fleck of paint keeping up with the irrational demands of the machine , time itself diets it would seem, to fit in that dress, the one we will compliments as she takes a final bow. It's what they make of your sub vocalized indictments that really tells the pavements from the tectonics. it's what they harnessed from your fifteen minutes in the microwave that makes a man an aircraft in the distance. And an army a warm smile. A mile away technology discriminates, and the face emanates bleached and ideologically blushing, leaning on the nearest camera phone, wanting to be noticed by additional gods. In her head it's all or nothing before dawn cracks under interrogation, and that will be anything they want to hear. Tyranny is never short- of breath-of cash- of targets. Lucifer's match was made in heaven. The voice of nature, well paid, a blood transfusion away from the red carpet.

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