jennifer joy says:
tim, the one whose hair curls like smoke,
Timothy says:
yes jen, whose walled fortress is the tsg front office
Timothy says:
patiently guarding the holy land against the casual infidel who would breach its sacred border
jennifer joy says:
how fares the building of large mechanical things--the forces of the future?
Timothy says:
all is well, and all things are well, and all things will be well
jennifer joy says:
oh, how is the microchip? the small cell that rules our lives and brings us the mead of the gods?
Timothy says:
oh, to speak of the wonder of the chip that is micro
jennifer joy says:
and soon, i will partake in that mead,
Timothy says:
that you shall, bonnie lass, that you shall
jennifer joy says:
after my feet fall off like hunks of cheese in a small dairy
Timothy says:
you will sip this mead until the taste goes sour in your belly
Timothy says:
and your head swims like a blind fish in the unfathomed depths of the deepest ocean
jennifer joy says:
and my fingers grow numb with the cold of crimping amongst the steel of flight houses where planes find their homes
jennifer joy says:
oh, the joy!
Timothy says:
indeed, you shall, that and more shall be your lot
jennifer joy says:
my head swims with the sharks in my mind and i find i cannot sleep or speak of the dreams i have of slipping out behind these glass windows to the freedom of the road
- posted by jennifer joy staab @ 3:52 PM