#FreeVerse
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
Complex systems can arise from simple rules. It’s not that we want to survive, it’s that we’ve been drugged
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
The doll told me to exist. It said, “Hypnotize yourself.” It said time would be transfixed.
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
A merchant is probing for us with his chintz curtain effect. *
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.