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Post by GDelmarRatliff on Nov 16, 2004 21:30:17 GMT -5
The Infinites
and i scream, behold, i destroy and kill the mammoth waiting among the sand-dunes; his cognitive embellishes, the worst is yet to come. on a cold day that should have been the roots all thicken providing life for themselves.
this is the wastefulness we call our own, empty and baron in a sea of bitter frustration. the animal wins its case, i am not lost—<br>in thought, mind, grandiosity fulfilling vengeances. here asunder the chaos, he will not rise;
the ashes all remain from dusk until dust and dry eruptions of an asthmatic breath, lungs. i push forth the coming of sacred land: thou shall not, thou shall not, the portrayal of trust in an empty thought, the rubbish refrains;
i can claim nothing but massive victories. the mammoth lies in its cave awaiting self-infliction. i am done for a taming—whip and lash, straight curves all narrow out, lover of america the great white sea separates the culture, defiance.
early autumn november should be cold days, the praise of charm and winter arrivals. from this great land and sea, i see destruction at hand. the blood spills roam all over, dead the great arrivals burn-out off as stringencies,
infinite.
G Delmar Ratliff
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