Wednesday, December 16, 2009

rusty minor




If the incalcuable odds are against you what then is it beauty's turn to hold its horses? Open your doors O men the rain flutters its beats charging full speed ahead.

Over there the Empire not inside outside ... it's never ending claims reaching spreading pulling in talons ripping roping anything in sight gold barrier to gloom its hold on man's
spirit. Hold you horses you jets of war and hate and your infinite death drive... your splatter sungun .... ending life and ... the hand that cannot speak... won't mourn its primal loss...



Jill recalls the day of spring a thousand years... hence heading she's gone for river and splash calling up the brook and leaves....

its laughter.....