by Tomorrow's Man
October 24, 2004
A scratch on the piece of the fly of the white of the table leg broken in three of the jawless man of the child of the hand, the red right hand of the Book with pages written in pain of the masses of the plain of the past of the ice of the block of the slight of the lie of the way of a word of the turn to one side of the left and of the right of gravity and blight of steel of a scar of a planet tossed high of a wish that a dream could fly to a place where there was only truth.