Subject: Glenna

From: "fielding micky" <[email-masked]>
Date: Tue, 3 Apr 2007 22:33:05 -0500

Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc
Of too much truth to do much more than lie
Late February, and the air's so balmy
Billows the fog, cloaks
II. Quest and Conquest
Chose to walk out of it, they'd have to pass
Life, or only joy, that stands out
Given by nature will soak into it.
Away from their profundity of surface.
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
The high whites spread over the buried earth.
XIII. The Route to the North
When I am heard, and what I say is solely
and turn it into something cartoon-funny.
Is the moon to grow
The purest form is always the one
And off the white smoke swims
Upon from the right by far trees, that white place
Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,