Friday, September 03, 2004

1.34



The rain is become snow, and the city's towers,
Wraithed by the storm, to their evil more exactly;
Knowing nothing else, they will continue
Even though their obituary is on the stocks.

The snow will take away the reticulation of avenues,
Maps murdered under the white, but the people will walk the same
     track,
They will go to their same old homes,
They will greet their same partner,
They will sleep a while longer,
But labours done without salary will be a disorder,
Humans will be their own confusion, such disarray.