THEY MAKE PRIZE COPY
She is talking about the cherry blossoms
again - and it isn't even Spring. What
have you is totally running on. Yes, I do
suppose we can debate Time and its many
things, but we cannot erase those marks and
lines which bring us forth. Back from Death,
past the last participle of becoming. Forgetting
her calendar, she is talking cherry blossoms again.
Music plays behind her - the high sounds of light.
Alongside the Beltway in this city of Death, this
Capitol of deceit, this lily-basket of filth and
corruption, this den of the beast, I am listening
to all the lost and laggard men, while she
talks cherry blossoms again.
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