queen's writ

[Alan Sondheim]

queen's writ


it's the queen's writ, to be sure, you can read it in the wind, it's
graphology. god is a voiceover discerned by signs turned as such on the
lathe of experience. we're heading towards the interior, mine own, squalls
lead the way. the machines shudder in the almost-dark, you can hear the
native clarinets murmured in the distance. all distances are great, saith
the lord, all winds from nowhere, all destinations cut short by the love
of death. the lord inculcates all i do and think. religion's always on my
mind, when it isn't dad, and the two are identical, now aren't they. you
can see the packet spurts, shape-riding in this environment is more like a
roller-coaster than anything else, holy-roller to be sure. the wind blows
out, grey clouds unfurl the sky once again in the almost-dark. this is the
image of a picture in the text of the steganographic image. the terrorists
need help. i'm in the valleys of the appalachians of pennsylvania, we're
all in training here, but for what?:day two on dad's machines, the natives
here are restless, we'll take care of it, get rid of the dirty bomb,
literally, the earth throws it off-course, solar panels in disarray,
mayday or some such, but who'd approach? not on your life they say, at
least the machine works slow like a leak, word after word coming in, none
too fast of course - there are winds on the sea, winds within, they caress
me, dawn, there are winds on the sea, winds within, they caress me, dawn,
you can read it in the wind

your there are masts in the land, masts in the sea, what of them and their
brawn, your place among you

there are masts in the land, masts in the sea, what of them and their brawn
you can read it, you can read it in the wind


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