Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Hope u feel better, by Lups

Taste for moon, shy tick in time:
I feel my life fast as a glass cover.
Her death sparkle, outgoing.
All the horse-strange horrors
that disturb light.
My rat thoughts make you the young man.
You are floor-clung after all,
a good companion.
I will speed an instrument.
Scissors lend a bitter taste.
I have eaten nothing.

Sunday, May 6, 2007

Tell me..., by Renae

Sense, cause, knowledge:
What saw slip does.
Isn't balance a bad idea?
There is a strung horn, little secret;
he sent tooth for me to his house,
gave me no helpless opinion.
Now in the gallery
the guard man against wheel distance
opened his eyes.
When leaf would frame you,
fly for close control.
Young wire man, terrible in a low voice,
loads his crush around a thousand daggers.
Birth like a cooing ice clap of thunder.
The gleaming appetite grows by light.