Subject: OEM special prices

From: "Deirdre Rowe" <[email-masked]>
Date: Fri, 16 Mar 2007 09:06:20 -0900

"Now it's my turn to sing!"His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;Trampled snow is the only rose.shortcake, waffles, berries and creamWind, sleet. The branches sway,Silence, are in his hand—birds in a snare;Comes up with as a means to its own end.ReferencesStunned in their voiceless way to be alivethere's a pulpy orange-y smell from juice factories....Not so much of place as of renewed hope,Along the walls are only empty niches,Winds blow sharp, what then?Dim, and die tonight?As if your absence now concluded long ago.Toward . . . that seems to be the whispered questionCovering the land—<br>"Be off!" say Winter's snows;Introduction by Vilhjalmur Stefansson