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5) As Drift Into Daylight
> not normally, never clearly seen. chirpy yells from the youthful audience then crusts and years alike, poured from the earth and doffing the respectful hat enjoined by losing the thread. so much space to occupy. and the rust and fidget between deeming figures. awful as the audience makes its thinking spread, posted on the side of disaster while under any witness of moon slides down: it's a call from someone you know. earth is a structured place. the children really want to dance.

absolute blue arrives in time.

but this is only the beginning.

terror is only a finely construed spacebetween gestures, or so much political thinking falls this way and that. inevitable gravity plump as can be. it comes across as radical, leading the rocketship into space. the moon's a great hunk of turf and expression, as wild as the push of waves onto shelves o sand. the dream remains in the cluttered summer sun, then dourly sinks upon the next up. references fade as gingerly a words into meaning. something goes wrong, as an ad lib with the mike turned up. the shower of foolishness lasts devilishly long, like the smile on George Bush's cliff face. and the rocketship has barely broken thru the first cloud (all other clouds melt per force). but we'll wait the night out, and the next day too. if the waters recede, we can begin our search. till then, pins and needles as a way to say it. churches leave everyone feeling wrong.

our track considers a lobe of earth. the brain itself fits any description, fills those pockets with consuming knowledge. a wave over and above all others becomes a certain mess. fled by any means.

the current has pushed each general rocketship further. out is good, isn't it? it is a good means, anyway. someone lights candle, talking about the news. that much bounciness to conclude the run of days. then pack up all space ships, back to address that centre thing, and call home when the money runs out.

meanwhile, at the centre of the real planet, Metallica lunges.

but are you crazy about the tones and distances? someone asks, and paint falls off the wall. weird situation in space. time equals where you are. how will we react to the centre when we see it?

the next poem will be the first. do you mind the way the current contemporary verges onto the ends of the old contemporary? we feel useless in our words, but words themselves have oceans only severally.


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