Sunday, April 22, 2007


What makes the morning mutable?
is a tundra,

an entire academy seeking the kiln of

Some neck package / read fine print.

There is a secret paradise in many faces.

Springtime is a gift.

Clarity is like thunder (in the hills).

Sadness is a radish on the salad of life:
put it off to the side.

I’m jealous of my own lungs as
they breathe your delicious air.

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