Saturday, June 19, 2010


the general inside is a quartermaster general ... he marshals the troops but it's to the paradeground each morning he sends them ... you can't tell but for the set of the soldiers' lips if the roads are still for repairing the canals and rivers for clearing or we're coming to the end the walls and the tunnels for retreating ... in such a case and so often peninsulas become cul de sacs and then islands with never enough heat ... tremors then shakes all up the line ... no more cooperation between the warehouse and the factory ... both send regrets to the head office ... regrets and notice of vacating ... what's a tired too tired staff to do now ... the general at the window muses ... ah the time the hair flowed down the shoulder ... the sun and the surf rose together ... we put our hands up and leaned back ... the sky in our face we were bows for the stringing ... and all the water ran ... the voices cross the surface of the sea

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