I think they're being fairly clear this month.
Substituting death for retribution, though satisfying for the persecuted,
next week, wont be enough.
Reading the web times drive, news archives from before I was the survived, I am stopped.
In my tracks.
Nostalgic tracks, yet, tracks at that. The news tracks my arms, my sleep.
I'm crying because i'm bleeding, but its for them I weep.
It lingers you know...like a dogs territory in the snow, cast out from this winter.
The Green House gitter.
Rests its case.
So I wasn't meant to understand it, follow it, study, nor fight its battles.
Yet it baffles me, how is my comic twist supposed to end this spree of fleeting news
that doesn't even hit the refrigerator magnet.
Back there, file boxed, so that one day i can simply "have it."
http://www.myspace.com/almathomas
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