>

2007/02/23

is

Is this a space of splice place a fate to work? a shipping room of eaves? was it here its the spoke its name? gathering
its berries?
what error trusted its name to fly on wings not helded by ground and earth?
to fly god's name?


Mona's repetition was a neck stuck to a floor, her navy nursery rhyme
calibrated to her fix. Calling death a walk in the page.
Knowing no other game.