I note; just as an aside, that it has been a few swift hours since yesterday was what today is now.

Words still are stuck in the throat,perfection of verse is hard to strive for on all the poetic days.

The roads are vases of glass filled with foliage, green transmuted to red, that tremble in the wind.

The white noise throws it's shadows across the floor, lest silence,pure and naked be too difficult to bear.

And if I strive,I can perhaps listen to a barking dog, cars on the street, and your silent breath whispering something to me.

Within today, As yesterday.

2001.11.07 15:45 Atlanta
For Doc