remember me
... and let it live on. You can cry and lose yourself, become distraught and turn your back on the world or you can do what I want - smile, wipe away the tears, learn to love again and go on. The leaves of autumn fall as winter whimpers the cold and lonesome songs, Horace stays off the prairies these days, always yet never longing for his hoary ice tongs. Icicles of water bear polar witness, frozen-wise, to the bottom of my dianic soul, Seventy-four phalaropes flare their nostrils of pity, wholly holy and whole. "Corvairs of poetry keep one sane through the dizzy shifts of love, but Oranges from nowhere, now here, do sense that of which I can't think of, but Nebraska now, the phippses and the dales of spring do dust their songs of laughter. Tuesday salts my wounds with savory seasoning, no matter that I'm the crafter. Elvis' slive lives Levi's veils' evils, but never more sexy than only two teeth. Smoothier than pianissimo, more miserable than largo, they oscillate beneath Turkey's palindrome of the summer's splendthrifterous coniferous mistlet...