Monday, October 25, 2010

It was midnight in the rain.  All symbolic interpretation begin/began!

The uninhabitable space between drops so fine--where winging, clinging words that ring so true were suffocating Muse's Pyre's Blues--was learning to burn its burial shroud and reconstruct itself in the New Phoenixian style.

This day was new and quite profound: The space between Time's Movement's hands became a place to hatch our plans: We couldn't eclipse the infinite.

But we died trying.

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