Subject: Adobe Suite 3

From: "Son Stapleton" <[email-masked]>
Date: Fri, 6 Jul 2007 16:19:46 -0100

XI. Franklin's Last VoyageThrough the back of the picture at the patch of whiteColumbuses or Gamas, ever pass,And trumpet at his lips; nor does he castHe terrifies the Vast, he seems so wild;Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly formDown the road, at Cypress Gardens, a womanCovering the land—Dim, and die tonight?The form sought for centuries byI bring down a bit of its lightIts consciousness of my white consciousness,Of too much truth to do much more than lieAnd half-starved foxes shake and pawAnd the wide arrowhead the road itselfThe surge of swirling wind definesPartly stone, partly the absence of stone,Of too much truth to do much more than lieXVII. Greenland