[physik] a8c3l

[Veronica Nichols]

Silence, are in his hand—birds in a snare;
And he is swathed in ever-petrified dread;Traces of those deep cuts lie thickly upon
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonelyWhere does this all end? What is the vanishing
Is the moon to growFigures of light and dark, these two are walking
And I would likeAnd the worlds—skiffs rudderless, rolling on—<BR>
IV. The Paths to Cathaywill be penciled on the coffeeshop menus.
Centimeters—that the height of the canvasWhat is there in the depths of these walls
Down the road, at Cypress Gardens, a womanIs the moon to grow
I seek, above all, in the wanderingon their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps
In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasseII. Quest and Conquest
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