: Thursday, July 21, 2005 8:06
AM
Subject: Re: Mastication Therapy - AH
Freemix #0004
This is a very interesting version/riff on my poem. How long did it
take you to write? I'm interested since I only posted the original poem
yesterday. Thanks, anyway. Regards, Tom
Savage
click
click-click-click
click-click
click.
On 7/21/05, Thomas savage <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
> This is a very interesting version/riff on my poem. How long did it take
> you to write? I'm interested since I only posted the original poem
> yesterday. Thanks, anyway. Regards, Tom Savag
This is a very interesting version/riff on my poem. How long did it take you to write? I'm interested since I only posted the original poem yesterday. Thanks, anyway. Regards, Tom SavageAugust <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
AH Freemix #0004
If your mountain speaks, learn itsfurniture would it
AH Freemix #0004
If your mountain speaks, learn
itsfurniture would it it's glows. Dust brown rivers could bethe always
gray. If we could be the favor? Rivers could eatfurniture would it return
the with america whose skies areborn. Memory of europe's flowers are born.
Memory europe'sthe se
AH Freemix #0003
Like an empty pages, dali paints your
mountain speaks,learn its breath them. Are almost looks like an speaks,
wantlocked in its which table flowers are almost always gray. Ifits
breath still looks would it are night's coup on themind, say our could be
the with america lea
AH Freemix #0002
On cold nights of europe's past-future, locked in its warswith america
patterns quickly. A lampshade wars with americawhose skies are born. Memory
of europe's past-future, lockedin order to feed his furniture. To keep them
have them.Brown the favor? It's mourning morning. T
AH Freemix #0001
On cold nights of europe's past-future,
locked in its warswith america whose skies are almost always gray. If
yourmountain speaks, learn its wars with america whose skies areborn.
Memory of the night's coup on day. The gravel bedswant our dreams so let
them warm on nearl
Mastication Therapy*
On nearly empty pages,
Dali paints little brown bones
In order to feed his furniture.
To keep them warm
On cold nights
Of Europe's past-future,
Locked in its wars with America
Whose skies are almost always gray.
If we could eat furniture
Would it return the favor?
