warping mon i was running we were running we ran the trees became a train station i talked with mao's grandson he explained and signed our quarantine papers told us we would be expected across the borderline there was an egg on the seat at the back of the train it boiled in my hands i broke it in half and found a little white mouse instead of yellow yolk i cupped it in the palm of my left hand closed then opened it was still there but now this tiny little pink-nosed mouse had become three and two jumped off away under a crack into the sunlight i tried to keep but they escaped and i knew i couldn't catch them so i fixed my eyes ahead looking to the other seats empty as the train started moving wondering if anyone at the next station would believe us about Mao's grandson 040318 ... sans nom the loom warping the moon 040423 ... nom every_night_mares 040423 ... Fido Rumblings in the dark stark mumblings tumbling to the city floor scum wash gutterway to nowhere and everywhere all at once by pitied creatures crusted over similar features to what was us and is them and will be death to all or all to death there is no sin in breath there is no zen in death it is all lost and found in us caught and released beneath these deep city streets to nowhere. in here one call to home is worth one lifetime there to hear mother's voice wishing whatever well wishes mothers wish to sons and daughters swimming in this shitstorm drenched penny pinched shadow of life reflecting after hope set on its many horizons. poison is its hold, cold is it's grip but all for one we grip one dream for all until all are gone, drip for drip 051107 what's it to you? who go blather from