Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Vow at light's dimming

White smoke and bells indicate a girl has worked too long in a day’s restaurant. Hail her. The chicken is tangy, the chips odd with flavor. A scan of the archives, gestalt emerges from anachronistic cave space where it had been shacking up with loose dendrites, waiting for a good idea to uproot. Gymnasium. From in between backward and forward motion, a pope springs up. Old as neurosis but will do. Pass the wine, pass the bread, pass the stone so we can concoct on it. Unforeseen ingredients conjure a salad the magnitude and potency of the oldest lighthouse. The cocker spaniel from here on out will be healthy.

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