54 wishes

The soft filter of atmosphere reduces... sounds become rushing winds. These nightscreams are my own dreaming. The tense twitch in the thick of my neck has nearly gone now. Graysteel, cindercrack, brick-crete and pale. The sooty skin of last century's turn is covered over. Shiny false cylinders loom with roots digging through old layers.

a. taylor

54 to you...from me.

Zoned inertial vent of vomited emotion. Seeds of Life clash with the void. In somber mood of unrepentance, the stone tries to dream. Who is executioner? I am executioner. Insoulable heap of wasted energy, all for not. Not I, not you, for who is the god? Who is the dog? We are not whole.

neck

no name

Here's how it started: We began with a few dates. I thought you liked beer; you thought I'd pick up my socks; that sort of thing. Years later, after all that crap is out of the way, we SHOULD be thinking about "more important things". What is more important, really, than beer and socks?

Joe and Mary Tholen