Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Sound Of River

A penultimate oval to which one's obligation is deeply felt. Opacity figures in as does the red of deity. Keep title for properly a fandango.

Nobody arrives, leaving sound of river. Crepuscular orange sentiment well trodden. The snow that hill was keeping in.

A roaring bull, a declamation. They walked regular in angles like stars. At hour when voices fade, drizzling down like old rain.

A lid, a bowl, a ladle, a trowel. A soil way of declaring proclaiming. Lizzie Borden's broken wax.

Harrowing the rows along a memory of elm. Swing's the thing. He wrote bearing in mind most of a favored wind.

Instrumental occidental. Keep your Jimmy Dean. The plane stoked low a redundant basket of globes.

Light found is one's hand a plus. Char blackened bulbous as a ridden grill would also.

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