Saturday, February 23, 2008

Howling at the Moon



Dreaming to realize drops of
Oil floating in happy keens, blinded.
Drums dispersed in fizzer boxes
Lights to blind the coarse set of decisions
Classical windows opened as an ode
To space by the innocuous pull
Waiting for the inertia to resist
Alive to kiss the Americana
Nerds crossed in bones
Smiling asleep

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