Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Finite express

Finite express darling Mona. Monocled to her perpendicular self. No way knowing the name of this ride. Through fortune's calender her mess. Is near to breaking. Half past the crockery of salon and saloon, she know it's this must be her maid. Not where it sits, but it's ebb decked with her being. Speaking of the nothing she kow-tows to events, and knowing nothing her vent is ripped from head to toe. Like a veiled soldier she convinced she's dead.

Not being anything she knows as its from the exterior
she's not a pent spent penny but walk to the river in dawn. Aube is her best friend.