Saturday, October 30, 2010

The ruse.

Language is wrecklessly close to nothing at all.
Its replacement with more careful inspection,
Divulges itself with grand spills to disorient
The speakers, hearers
Translators. Love:
Running from the chin
Cracking the teeth,
Melting the tongue as it jerks on the weight of
Peeking adventure.

Or who would?

You get it?

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