the struggle that flatters to deceive, that seems so distantly near…

it grips
and trips
i, me, myself.

hate it.

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Published in: on Monday, June 30, 2008 at 4:04 pm  Comments (2)  
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dripping

the text was loud when the sovereign seed, tree and soul delivered the punch that sent the wired one scrambling. the horn was read and the cause for fireworks could never have been underachieved. the route, the one with the narrowest width, is now set for as long as time exists. the sidewalk must be dolled up. the sheep must be led. the journey must and will start. the chosen living dead and dead living must complete the mission hand in hand. the curtain that differentiates has been lifted, but the vision is no clearer than before. in fact, one of them is dripping with an ounce of the thorn that kills. the fist must surely soften the blow, now.

Published in: on Wednesday, June 18, 2008 at 10:29 am  Comments (4)  
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