PLEBUS

Fire dances all around now. The news is out. The grind of thelemaque waltzes towards the tomb, bones thrown away, we are forgiveances, the beds delivered, bushes unburnt, cell door unturning the time to that of an old Public Enemy Manifesto, towards the edge is going John makloff, towards the fist of clan bitch, she dances, avoids the places, the trouts, ill as a human in Terra One, the little feet of mine, around the rug of theirs, the tea is just right warm and chocolate ganadis flow around. The pact being signed, I resign from the band, the runs, the buns hot, their hands cut, the field washed by the ace deck straight of Panisse slightly left bare by the 51. The 52 goes in and unrooted their dream, the lice crawling on me is now alone in the fields! The race is Humanida, I left it there on a Kleenex soiled with just my spit and your hate plus a fake autograph by Mos Def and the jaw of the drummer of Def Zippo left to mime but certain to preserve until Franco gets out of town, what do you mean off his head, Kathy Cockenson or Sam Brown? copyrighted by proof-

Reincarnational Drama at 6:46....the Death of a Clan. Part Wand www.halexandria.rog 1......4.....2.............1. etec.:-:{. III+III