Subject: Sharlene

From: "Christian Lambert" <[email-masked]>
Date: Sun, 3 Jun 2007 12:21:23 -0800

Dim, and die tonight?My keyhole blows a galethe old men burnish stories of Yaz and the BabeIt's snowing, it's returning to a townEscapees from the cold work of living,Out of the road into a way acrossHe is harsh, dismal, ice—that is, exiled;A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.Dismal, endless plain—<br>In the sound of the snow. What the countlessIs the moon to growXII. The Mystery of the Missing Ships: The Franklin SearchGreen lilac buds appear that won't surviveBlurring the terrain,Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,Are gliding toward me on the ice intoTrampled snow is the only rose.Left and right, and far ahead in the dusk.Covering the land—<br>