Tuesday, November 11, 2003

I have talked with the figure whom everything sees
It was a foggy day, about twenty-five degrees
It appeared to me there in the tv of my head
An elaborate colorfull swirling, empty and dead
It summed up it’s message in a word so familiar
A waterwheel with holes. Our planet ‘s atmosphere
A powerful theology, one we’ve seem to have missed
But to say it is wrong, is to prove that it exists

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