it's what does, should, might, is

written in the middle of the sea
from memory like mud-diary and plague-ing pain. some colors i will never understand. but i am moving, un-slow, surging forth and calling out loud and soundless for anything at all anywhere to happen, keep happening.

it's what holds this muck together isn't it?

2004-07-02 | 5:09 p.m.
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