Tuesday, September 20, 2005
We weren't worried about grand thoughts of heartfelt impunity, no tightrope walking or heroic dashes could keep us from a margin of error too dull to top, too on the edge to cut through ideology when all our thoughts really scream is, "I do believe I'm concerned," and there is no hope in skipping on one foot, there are no silent "t"s to release this transnational express, we shoot for lag and end up with boredom, we shoot for the mundane and end up in a hole: dry, wet, it doesn't really matter as long as it is coarse, holding up umbrellas to the weather if it's overcast, I am not to be lambasted when I score you as a name brand; I am the ignoramous when I fall back on my latin words because everything's a prefix to the person who's the suffix and we reconnect like molecules, glinting breaking in the sun.
