11.24.2002 :::
Tornado
Truely is the aged
Around the piano and the bocks
The woman goes to Eden.
It, the morning, brings water.
Smiles in the mailbocks flag.
Down to the creek,
It, Avalon, the present ute.
She, Elizabeth, waters her skin,
The rosebud fades,
Her eyes are black,
While the soil dies,
Her scales are falling
The, It, the spring
Enlightens her foundation,
Ah, yes, the whirlwind,
Rips, kills, shreds,
The roots of life,
And she, Elizabeth
Is a coma in her bed
::: posted by Matthew at 4:04 PM
