Tuesday, June 10, 2008


Defrocked gardens of modern apartheid given to the face of the animals, taught of its own survival in the monumental cliff's wind and the cloud's fallen tears. Back into the pocket, mixed in with the fronds and petals. The superimposed vision of the broken line rocked the momentary vision of yellow and green, turning cold and blue as the sky fell.

PS - I did your don't. And I hate it.

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