The walking stick walks the old man over bumps on the sidewalk his canine leads him very well the old lady watches man and dog hobble from past to future trapped in time no one remembers except for that lady standing over there for those who would remember are all gone except an alien Advertisements
Pieces of brain You’re in the darkness now not behind the plow Is it that we bore the plowing tool or part our hair so unfair?
You wouldn’t know the difference between them and you when you conversed they will act like us saying the same words they will look like us and they will
this face of clay we think we really know awareness of the outside and inside down the pit of our stomach to the tips of our toes not quite enough to
movement fear Listen hear rumbling shake feeling breathing draining lake living rivers trees
We love who we do as so many of us do; for paying homage to the losers. Fading away into the Netherlands we will
There are those not like us. We are surrounded. We are outnumbered. they are doing just fine. They always get by. They use. They take. They don’t