the clearing stood as a dogma for a hesitation pinched between the dullness of marmalade stick and convenience ploy. whilst in this conjunction the streets are still weary from tanks trudging about, sloppy calm sits above this blankhead mumbling to a song.
stickler flicks in continuum to arhythmic slurs punctuating dots off sentences plummeting into the evening set.
these are seconds where each year that passed stood as a province flickering in the distance calling for everyone. but a hum by the coast swings consciousness to a different height, whispering in confidence the stories nomads tell children to keep them off the borderlands.
this is the space where millions will pray for a better day. this is also the same space, millions will kill for a better day.
quit patronizing scum.
pocket your beliefs in a wormhole, and set the sails for the meandering opus proposing life as a manufactory hoax.
stickler flicks in continuum to arhythmic slurs punctuating dots off sentences plummeting into the evening set.
this is the space where millions can breathe for a better day. this is also that same space, millions will disappear for better days.
January 24, 2010, 2:41am
