Tuesday, November 21, 2006


Gingerly snaps the greed, reed of her extensions over rivers and beds by the weir solo act of its penitent repair . And snacking on the ridge, doaty boys, foster kids murthering sieges. That make every sentence spare. Not so the hot willing of thunder and its distant calvacade . Dented by the wheel of its further alarms and alarums. O yer sitting plunder Jill to your have some make. Carry this wand a long way, then down its bridging tarmac. And pull its heart to you.