I counted god's indis
cretions; among them, what so lucid that
I carried in stride. I
counted my own
derelictions, before them
left a duty that emerged.
The lampshade medicine in
tawdry obsolete, she
tells me after Monday
that the warehouse basked
in that wasting light:
the way we struck oil on
seven countenance, below
which held The ivory visage
and the opaque pictures' scars. I came
to the piano asking
how to begin, the fingers
taut and
our earliest sin
dear alex, katherine, anthropod, ascorbic, avalyn, clampe, creases, iceowl, Jack, hemos, Kurt, Gorgonzola, GrouchyOldMan, grundoon, mauler, nate, N-Wing, panamaus, riverrun, TheDeadGuy, Two Sheds, wertperch, joer, Oolong, The Debutante, in10se, rootbeer277, dem bones, Swap, Dreamvirus, Demeter, aneurin, Timeshredder, Transitional Man, XWiz, Andrew Aguecheek, Dimview, Junkill, karma debt, eien_meru, Scribe, TenMinJoe, Augustine, The Custodian, Klaproth, and Wuukiee,
don't delete this
sincerely,
ushdfgakjasgh