Wed Apr 8 20:56:35 2009
What was this arid
desolation, flushing
at the work
of explanation with a cough. He
stood still time for these plants
to grow less impassive and he
slept, for still he floated in a tumult
of sounds, varying in strength,
leapt out towards the flare. You're as
white as the first winter finery.
Texts:
Booker T. Washington, Up From Slavery
Stephen Crane, The Red Badge of Courage
Edith Wharton, The Custom of the Country
John Milton, Paradise Regained
H. G. Wells, The First Men In The Moon
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