R/ckets and S/ntries

he dead in a minute, inside the bell of horn. she dead, lifted, it is all so plain. they dead and that's a natural sound. the mournful hum and all of language on the brink, almost a word to say and more. but less to carry, always, falling off the trait of log. expression given in a word of almost meaning some kind poetry that means us to the core. we aren't the people for the test, it seems, too sad of the harping on and on, tho in the distance the ringing sound...

attribute mayhem, viper in doctored prose, regulations via Red Sox versus Yankees, what time stinks over means of attending but that coffee, one day in the morning, a ritual to deliver while alien allusion scuffs an entire street, and we are left nameless... what shall we call this?

deliver the league of entry
to the colour of grant. prime rose
of interested nation, with a topspin
closing over the latest word on. on it all
while survival seems like alien means. adjusting
to the crimp of sentences dashed against blast actions
and decrying once in a while in the littlest hole,
these nationals increase their spark with easily
instructed copping out and database blurring
of sequence and need. the newest sentences
barely survive, goosed to pretension and
holding onto to weathered rocks, such
a diction made complete and well
schooled, stuck fake in the
national past time, letting
loose over all...

a front of waiting game alerts the project from the start. wetness method sews together logic unions in a trance. aliens are stewed for what we think we think. listening maximal alongside stresses the challenge of this new. gentrified streets muddied by a dour win or two. whiff of voter appropriation and the shunting of goals over worth. seems particle bored, like everywhere else has names. just our reference map, really.