fog proud

my meter clod cloud my

apse relapsed wore

full nor toweling bur

nt betide the indices

if indices the mind des

cribe or were a

laughing wallet no

thing left wells me

up a tide of mud the

walls collapsed .if

if the shoe's de

tached ,the sky a

plate of smoking lung

...a great, wet, muddy thing...

- Olchar E. Lindsann