Wednesday, January 03, 2007


People's skin don't make it right. You must select the channels loaded into your discus plate. A scope of your ankle determines distances throughout the lemon flavors. Fabric desires clothes worn by fools in a deck of cards given to business clients. Plastic terminal in the airport flies anxious passengers like leaves into whirlwind destruction. Flacid climate heats up in midsummer springing on tigers. You live in times noticed by surveyers of population unrest and insecure about economic warnings. Missiles detonate like langugage bombs in a cult's clarity. People's skin shaves off in a meat slicer, defended by attorneys, gloves fitting a lady's hand.


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