Friday, October 7, 2011

But The Fire Is Still Hot (Dying American Caucasian Poet) 1998

Take away, I pray, the piece of life that has never meant anything; nothing to the grand scope of things. Evils sending upheavals; steeples are bending with ease in the breeze; the freeze starting to falter, turning into water; the human element getting compliant; now defiant upon caustic complacency.

"Just give me my check and I'll say, what the heck?! Or whatever's clever."

Binds, starting to be unbound; never to be found...ever again. "There is nothing new under the Sun," My Son. Thou dost assuredly sinned.

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