Subject: Hilda

From: "tony meridith" <[email-masked]>
Date: Tue, 1 May 2007 15:46:11 +0400

Or by the loud hand of painting, always puts.
Never does any motion, sound, or light
Appear to lift up from the lake;
and preening, dancing on the basepaths,
My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
Where, as I discover as I go through
Escapees from the cold work of living,
With my foot the supple ball, for perhaps
they sit with their wives all day in the sun,
XV. The International Circumpolar Stations: The Greely Expedition
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed
Against this sky no longer of our world.
Life, or only joy, that stands out
Right, and appears from here to be overcome
Yes. The obvious
A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.
snoozing. A schoolgirl on vacation gapes,
Will sound, then the Lord's face will luminesce
Given by nature will soak into it.